


Intermezzo: The Corellian Vacation From Hell

by B_Radley



Series: Rise and Fight Again [15]
Category: Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Archaeology, Black Sun, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Corellians, Crimes & Criminals, Family, Friendship, Multi, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-15 23:55:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13042203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B_Radley/pseuds/B_Radley
Summary: A cop takes a vacation, hopefully without anyone shooting her, stabbing her, or otherwise committing violence.A would-be archaeologist and her partner try to find their way in the galaxy, fresh after nearly getting ended by an Imperial moff. Oh, and they need cash to pay off student loans used for something other than what they were intended.A criminal family seeks revenge on the cop that put their golden boy in jail. One member of the family desperately wants to find another way.The son of a politician wants to save someone who showed him that he was a better person than he thought. His lifelong friends and Crucible-brothers are just along for the first-class cruise.A Black Sun prince just wants to do what Black Sun princes do.A Dragon is just so over it all.You can’t always get what you want.





	1. Escape from Reality

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place immediately after Land of Song. Some things have been hinted at in other stories.
> 
> Wanted some light, humorous fluff. Took a bit of a turn.
> 
> Yes, and I know that common spelling now removes the silent ‘a’ from ‘archaeology’. From my cold dead hands...
> 
> Enjoy!

**Prologue: The First Year of the Clone War**  
**Hutt Space**

The young CorSec officer looks over the debris of the room. Her eyes stream with tears as she sees the bodies of the slaves lying on the floor of the vacant warehouse, their hands bound, gaping wounds at the back of their heads. The pain of her right shoulder, with its own blaster wound centers her. She sobs as she remembers watching the dozen Bryx clan soldiers of varying species executing the slaves one by one, as the Rodian leader laughs at them. Knih Bryx laughs at both their senseless deaths and her helplessness, as she kneels at his feet—her own hands bound.

Oddly, she wonders if the young Rodian cares at all at the profit that he has just murdered. Her lips pull back from her bloody teeth in a rictus of anger. She knows he would not care about the lives he has destroyed. She curses to herself. He knows that she would care. That is why he had murdered them—no matter the loss of credits.

The feel of the small cylindrical metal object stuffed in the back of her boot centers her through her pain and grief. She can just make the fuzzy shape of her captor out through her single eye. The other is swollen shut.

“Just wanted you to have a taste of what the Dragon will see when I send the recording back with what is left of you, my dear,” Bryx says. “He’s going to get to see me send a bolt through your head—a warning to those who interfere in Bryx clan business.”

“Oh, I’m sure that he might interfere just a little more than you would like, ‘dear’,” she says. “He likes interfering in other people’s business. Especially slaving scumbags like you.”

He seizes her by her brown and blue hair. “Well, it’s a pity that you won’t be around to see that. Or see me kill him when he interferes.”

“Well, neither will you,” she says.

The metal object is still comforting against her skin as it leaves her hand. The sound it makes reminds her of a game from her birthworld, of a more benign type of device—a sphere instead of a cylinder—rolling across a wooden floor. As the officer releases the device towards the upright Bryx soldiers, she kicks out behind her, her heavy boot connecting with his shin. She pushes off as she hears the satisfying crunch that accompanies his scream.

She manages to hold her bound hands up and away from her back as blaster bolts arc towards her from the few soldiers who have not tried to leap to futile cover. She feels the slight burn on the skin of her wrists as the binders are struck apart by one of the bolts. She reaches out with her newly-freed hands to pull the other thug standing near her, a larger than normal human, off of his feet. He falls exactly where she wants him. Her breath escapes her chest as his bigger body lands on hers, an instant before the rolling cylinder explodes.

Dani feels the concussion of the blast pound into the thug’s body on top of her. She can hear nothing as the pressure in the room increases exponentially, then returns to normal instantaneously. She touches her ears, then brings her fingers in front of her open eye. They are painted with her own blood. She is able to shove her shield’s body off of hers, grabbing his blaster in the process. She immediately opens up on those surviving slavers as they manage to rise and point their blasters at her. The four remaining fall quickly to her blaster.

The young woman rises. Her body—especially her head, feels like it weighs several metric tons. Her right arm—her weak arm, as it turns out, hangs uselessly at her side. Her single-eyed gaze, marked by the sable hue of extreme emotion for her species, searches for a particular body. Her crimson skin flushes with anger as she sees Bryx attempting to crawl away.

She moves as quickly as her aches and pains will allow. She soon stands over him. The blaster in her left hand is steady as it tracks to his head. His bulbous eyes are even wider. He holds his hands together and up in supplication.

She can hear nothing, much less his begging, after the blast. Her aim is steady, but her finger quivers on the trigger as she weighs her actions in her mind. She sees an older human male in her mind, his piercing blue eyes sad as he watches her. She sees another—a woman—with the same red skin as her own, but with amber eyes and blue hair without brown streaks, looking at her with the same expression in her memory.

She closes her eye. The blaster falls to her side. She shakes her head slightly and then fixes her gaze on Knih again. He slumps and stops begging as her heavy work boot connects with his head. She holsters the blaster and grabs him by the collar. As she starts to drag him away, she is suddenly conscious of screaming in her mind. Her eyes widen as she realizes the source.

Daaineran Faygan screams as she wakes. She runs her hand over her face, as she realizes that she lies in a comfortable bed, nearly a decade past her dream. She wipes the tears from her eyes and pulls the sheet from her body. The young woman, older, wiser, and with more rank and more losses than the carefree Senior Deputy Constable of her nightmare memory, reaches over to the nightstand and downs the remainder of the neat whisky in her glass. She looks down at the older human sleeping next to her, a peaceful look on her features.

**Nearly five years since the fall of the Republic**

Sana Starros walks into the small cabin on the steerage level of the Corellian starliner. She winces in pain as her ass brushes against the door-frame. She allows her eyes to close as she sees the smirking face of the Corellian who had inflicted the wound on the streets of Aldera. She grins when the vision of the same area on him flies unbidden to her mind. The smile dies on her lips as she sees yet another whose ass is usually on her mind. A young woman on her mind now, because of the incessant whimpers of pain emitting from the bunk.

Chelli Lona Aphra, the person most responsible for their predicament, lies on her stomach. The ‘rogue archaeologist’ who had let her quest for credits—credits to finance her fame and glory as a scientist—turn her into a pawn for an Imperial Moff. A Moff who had managed to get himself on the target list for other Imperials, with a little help from others. Others that included a sarcastic, hard-edged ISB agent, an equally sarcastic Corellian security officer, and an Alderaani bureaucrat who matched them all in sheer snark. She shakes her head, as she thinks of those three.

 _Three people with varying degrees of compassion_.

The Corellian and the Alderaani had managed to overcome the Imperial’s desire for order to keep them off of the Imperial wanted lists. An agreement that managed to keep them both from screaming their lives out as torture droids injected chemicals that would burn their nervous systems from within. That was if they were lucky not to get an executioner who liked the personal touch. One who enjoyed severing various limbs and then their heads with a laser ax. Both choices for the prescribed Imperial slow termination procedure for treason and sedition.

Another whimper of pain sends the thoughts of death away. She smiles ruefully as she looks at the young woman lying facedown on the bunk. She walks over to the bunk and sits gingerly, her own wound sending spears of pain through her lower body. Sharp words form on her lips as the continued sounds of distress flow from the young woman’s mouth. The words die as she looks on her lover. A tender look crosses her features.

She closes her eyes, then opens them. She touches Aphra on her shoulder. Sana feels her tense under the simple undershirt. A light sheet covers her below the waist. Sana idly thinks that the bed-clothes might be causing some of the discomfort, resting on the wound.

“Hey, sweetie,” she says softly.

A childlike voice answers. “Yeah, Sana?”

“I know you hurt, babe. I do, too. But we have to figure out what we do next.”

Aphra turns her head. She takes a deep, shaky breath. “I know, babe. I want to go back and continue classes. But I need money to repay some of that Imperial grant money I got that I used to finance a couple of expeditions. Bar’leth ain’t cheap.”

“No, it ain’t, Aph,” Sana says. She looks down. “I ain’t too sure I want to go back.”

Aphra’s eyes track downward, the usual focused—some would say mad—look in her eyes.

Sana touches her right cheek, allowing the backs of her fingers to be kissed by the dark hair. Her fingers trace gently down the linear tattoo that marks the student’s right arm, disappearing into the short sleeve of the undershirt. The Nar Shadaa native turns her hand over, allowing the knuckles of her hand to trace the warm skin. She smirks a bit as her hand traces further over the side of Aphra’s chest.

The smirk is matched by the bedridden archaeologist. “Trying to distract me, twit?” Aphra says, a bit of the old snark and personality creeping into her voice.

“That ain’t hard, half-wit,” Sana says. She reaches over and kisses Aphra. Aphra’s mouth opens as her tongue meets Sana’s on its own terms. As they break away, Sana rests her forehead against Aphra’s. She makes a decision.

“We need to talk about this, half-wit,” she says gently. “I‘m willing to help you earn some coin to get back into school. But I haven’t decided about me, yet. We have a standard month before the deadline.” She moves to her side. Fortunately, their wounds are on opposite cheeks and they can both face each other on their sides. Aphra grimaces, but shifts to face her lover.

“We’ll talk about it after I take you to the stars,” Aphra says. She lifts her arms above her head. Sana’s fingers touch the hem of the garment. As the palm of her hand touches bare skin below the other student’s waist, she realizes that the shirt is all that Aphra wears.

Sana feels laughter vibrating against her as the skin where her palm touches quivers at the contact. She feels the draft as Aphra manages to open her own shirt to the air.

“Guess I didn’t need my trowel to uncover these treasures, twit,” Aphra says, her eyebrows arched.

Sana is positive that Chelli Aphra can feel her muffled groan against the upper pattern of her tattoo.

~=~=~=~=~=

Dani Faygan sits by the pool on the starliner. She brings the Tatooine Sunrise up to her lips as she surveys her fellow passengers. She looks down as she thinks of her near-death at the hands of Imperial stormtroopers on the _You-kah Torin_. Her birthworld. The Land of Song.

Her eyes tear slightly as she remembers looking at her partner and friend—her fellow-Rebel, standing next to her, their hands bound, waiting for a blaster squad to explode their hearts. She wipes her eyes, smiling at the thought of the two of them celebrating their lives afterwards. A warmth rises in her center as she thinks of Ahsoka Tano and orange skin against her crimson.

Another who she can claim as a sister-of-the heart. Her eyes grow thunderous as she thinks of the last conversation with the Procurator-Fiscal and External, Draq’ Bel Iblis.The Dragon of Corellia. Her unacknowledged father. She feels her expression calm. For once, he had not been the cause of her anger. Rather the Imperial Advisor, soon to be ‘elected’ as the Diktat of the Five Brothers. was the catalyst. Her memory turns to the conversation. The conversation that had sent her from her claimed world to this lap of luxury.

~=~=~=~=~=

“I don’t know if you‘re going to be able to continue in CorSec and be the Head of the House, love,” Draq’ said. He touched her shoulder as he saw her anger rise at the mention of Corellia’s de facto intelligence service. _Saw and felt it,_ he thought. She had calmed as he sat down next to her on the couch in his office. Without pause, he had placed the tumbler of whisky near her hand. She waited patiently after she had taken a sip.

“With Sal’s plan to abolish the Rangers, I think that she is making a move on our ability to keep tabs outside of the system,” the Dragon said. Her eyes narrowed as she hears the name of the Imperial Advisor. A Corellian, born on Drall. A Corellian rumored to be the daughter of a woman who is a murderous thorn in the remaining Elder Family of the Five Brothers. A family that both people in this room were related to, by marriage and parentage.

Dani nodded. “We’ve been expecting this. But why will I have to give up my CorSec commission, Draq’?” she had asked.

“I think we need to separate everything. As a regular CorSec officer, you won’t be under my authority. I trust Shav Colum, but I don’t know if he will survive as Legate-Internal.” He looked down. “Don’t even know if I‘ll survive as Procurator.”

Dani touched his hand as she tried to fathom a Corellia without Draq’ Bel Iblis in its government in some way. Something that had not been a fact in nearly forty years. Even before she had been born.

“You can still maintain a Reserve commission, but you’ll have to take a demotion to Superintendent. There are no Chiefs or Seniors in the Reserves. Hell, it may have a different name after she gets through with it.”

She turned away. She was sure that Draq’ knew what this would cost her. She was proud of her accomplishments on a world in which some didn’t welcome her because of her mother’s heritage.

She watched as he smiled to himself. _Never as proud as he was._

“Look, Daaineran,” he said, “We‘ll figure this out. You’ll still be Head of the House. We just need to come up with a better cover than orphanage Headmistress, or brothel-keeper.”

Her eyes crinkled with laughter, making him regret his words as soon as he had said them. “I don’t know, Dragon. Might be well-qualified for the last.”

He rolled his eyes. “Smartass.” He stood, pulling her to her feet. She placed her head against his chest. “Find something to do for the next couple of weeks,” he said. “Make yourself scarce. I’ll figure it out.” He grinned and opened his desk drawer, handing her a chip. “Here. This might help. Something from three of my other children of chaos who seem to think that you deserve a rest where you aren’t getting shot at. First-class ticket on the _Corellian Star_ for a ten-day. When you come back, we’ll work on it.”

Her eyes had narrowed at the mention of those three miscreants.

Without a word, she had taken the chip, rubbing it between her thumb and forefinger as she thought of them. Her eyes are sad as she thought of others who don’t get cruises, unless they are working. Especially a Corellian hunter and a Togruta warrior, who are foremost on her mind.

Draq’ shook his head. “No, dear, this is not a request. It is an order. He nodded at her trim uniform. “Still can give those to you, even though I know you would interpret them if you needed to.”

She did the only thing she could do. She straightened to attention and placed her purple beret on her hair. She brought her fingertips to her brow in salute.

There is no disguising the raw and pure look of love and pride in Draq’s piercing blue eyes.

~=~=~=~=~=

Dani’s thoughts travel back to the present. Try as she might, she cannot feel like she can relax. She knows that Ahsoka, the Fulcrum of this movement that she and hers have found themselves a part of, had left after only two precious days on Alderaan with Bryne Covenant. They had been able to seize a month on Shili, but there was no indication that the two would see each other any time soon. No indication that relaxation would be in their future.

She shakes her head. Both of them would tell her that she had been working nonstop for the past year, ever since Draq’ had pulled her back from Selonia and put her in charge of Corellia’s intelligence apparatus. They would tell her that she needed this, even though both of them, as well as others, would give her some of the light and life that she needed. A warm smile flows to her features. She had touched the light with various partners over that time, maintaining the equilibrium that her people needed to stay healthy. The toxins that had built up in her body were long gone from when grief and pain had drawn her into a shell. A withdrawal that could have killed her, she knew. She sips her drink, allowing herself to eye the bared flesh around the pool area. _Perhaps—_.

Daaineran Faygan stands up, allowing the wrap to fall from her shoulders. She looks down at the brief bathing suit that she wears. A gift from a huntress, from a fellow survivor. One who has probably never bought a bathing suit in her life. The suit, in black with purple highlights, barely conceals the skin of her mother’s people. On a whim, she reaches behind her and removes the top, dropping it with the wrap.

She is quite sure that she will draw someone’s attention.

~=~=~=~=~=

The watcher does what he is trained to do. Trained by his uncle in their hive. He watches the young Zeltron move towards the pool. He has no aesthetic appreciation for her sinuous movements. He watches dispassionately as the woman stops at the edge of the pool. She raises her arms and stretches from the left and then to the right. His snout twitches in contempt.

He is sure that she is trying to attract other humanoids, for the purposes of mating. His people have much more efficient ways of attracting partners than this preening and stretching.

She stops with her hands and arms up from the center of her body. She pushes off into the air and changes direction. Her crimson body spears the water cleanly. The watcher does not appreciate her body, but he does appreciate skill. He thinks of his uncle, the Master watcher, Garindan ezz Zavor. He thinks of his cousins who are growing into the elite of Kubindi. Entries into that rarified world that have been bought and paid for by his uncle’s skill as an information seeker. He lifts a datapad and sends a message. A message to a steaming green planet—a planet whose cities are enclosed in domes.

The message travels across the stars to the jungle world. The home of someone looking for this young diver. Unknown to the Kubindan nephew, his message is tagged. Tagged to copy to a world of cold marshes.


	2. Escape from the Everyday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An executive investigates a hint of danger. A new occupation is found. A cop dances.
> 
> Contact is made.

A beep on his datapad brings the young executive to full consciousness. He had been half-listening, his eyes open, as a functionary spouted facts and figures about his father’s re-election campaign. He shakes his head. _Not really necessary to listen. Seeing that no one had run against Baron Papanoida since the middle of the Clone Wars._

He pulls the datapad to him. His eyes widen as he sees the symbology on the discrete screen. He rises to his feet. All of the other functionaries rise with him. “Thank you,” he says politely, “but another matter has come to my attention. We’ll adjourn for now.”

Ion Papanoida turns and walks out of the the room, ignoring the questions shouted at him from the politicians, for one final contact with the son of the Great One before he can escape. His mind is already kilometers away, on his next meeting.

A half-hour later, he walks into an ornate office. A tall, dignified older man, who shares many common features with the younger, stands looking out of a large picture window. His robes of state, complete with its distinctive hat hangs from a stand across the room.

Baron Papanoida, Chairman of Pantora’s Governing Body and de facto ruler of the chilled world doesn’t turn when Ion walks in. “Father, I have news from Contra-Eleuthera,” he says, bowing, even though his father hadn’t turned. He sees his father nod slightly.

“Enlighten me, again about what this is?” comes the deep voice. A voice from a man who had stared down Jabba the Hutt to free his daughters.

“After Corellian Security gave us the information that a criminal front was using my name to acquire a docking bay for an Imperial squadron—one that was connected to a spice-smuggling operation, we decided to sniff out some of the people that we could connect. Apparently one is an information broker, whose comm we managed to tag,” Ion says. He stops as his father digests this. Ion knows that his father’s mind is as sharp as ever—sharper than most. He knows that the Chairman is playing all of the angles in his mind. Just as he had when standing before Jabba in his palace. For his daughters.

“What does this latest message mean, my son?” the Baron asks.

“The information broker, is someone we have not identified, but one of Senator Chuchi’s people managed to tag them after they sliced it.” He takes a deep breath. “I think Senator Chuchi might have had some help from the Corellians.”

The elder Papanoida is silent. He turns around. “I don’t want to be beholden to Bel Iblis,” he says. “Either of them.” His eyes narrow. “Tell Chuchi that.”

Ion contemplates his feet. He clinches his teeth, then looks up at his father. “I will do what I need to, will work with who I need to in order to protect you, this world, and our family.” He feels himself calm. “I don’t think Riyo is beholden to anyone. I think Draq’ Bel Iblis respects her and wants us to be able to protect ourselves from whoever engineered this whole thing.”

As he falls silent, Ion watches as Notluwiski Papanoida contemplates his words.

“So what is your news?” the ex-playwright asks.

“The information broker apparently had a lookout for someone. We intercepted a copy of the broker’s retrieval of the bounty.” He looks down again, his eyes fixed on a spot on the floor.

“Ion,” his father says softly.

Ion looks up. “The bounty was on the Corellian Security officer who let me know of the use of my name by the criminals. The one who started this whole thing for us. The transmission came from the _Corellian Star_.”

“The Zeltron? The one that kicked your ass at greenputt?” the Chairman asks, a bit of a smile on his lips.

Ion rolls his eyes. “Yes. I later looked her up. She was a collegiate champion before the War. In both greenputt and boloball. She certainly put those two assholes who played with us in their place. They are still pissed at me.”

“Well, anyone who can put those two ingrates in their place, is a friend of civilization,” the Baron says dryly.

Both Papanoidas sober. “Who wants her?” Ion’s father asks.

“As near as Riyo’s slicer can tell, it originated on Rodia. In the Bryx clan lands.”

Both father and son look at one another. “Didn’t—?” the father starts.

“Yes. The Corellians busted up a slaver ring early in the war. Rumor has it that Knih, the oldest son, wound up with two broken legs when he was taken in.”

“Thought so. Is he still in jail?”

Ion consults his datapad. “Yes. But it looks like he was friends with another scumbag in jail. One in the restaurant business. Or at least his family was formerly in it.”

“Jad Antol.”

“Yes, Father. I have heard rumors, nothing more, that he is out. Something about compassionate release after the untimely deaths of his brothers in a, uh, ‘cooking accident’.”

“Draq’ Bel Iblis let that happen?” the Baron asks incredulously.

“I don’t think he had anything to do with it. May have had a bit of Imperial authority in it.”

“What do you want to do, my son?” his father asks. Ion is suddenly ten years old again, as his father grows silent and looks at him. Unlike in that not-so-distant time, his father smiles.

“I think I owe her a bit. As do we all, Father.” He takes a deep breath. “I would like to go to help her. To warn her.”

After a moment, the Chairman nods. He turns to his desk and punches a few buttons on a console. Ion hears his datapad chime. “We have a reciprocity agreement with that shipping line. Here is board member privilege for you. I am assuming that those two ingrates you went to school with will speak to you again, if you give them free rooms on a first-class deck on a starliner.”

Ion smirks. “Yes. They might actually be useful if I need them.” The smirk grows. “They might want a rematch of some sort with Senior Inspector Faygan.”

His father pulls him into a tight embrace. “Be careful, my son,” the old man says. “I will hold off on informing the Corellians. That will give you time to make your move. But if you need backup, I will call them.”

Ion nods as he breaks away. His first stop is his office, where he unlocks a small chest with his thumbprint. He pulls out an ornate leather belt with two well-cared for rapid-fire blaster pistols in the holsters. He curses as he realizes how long it has been since he had used them in anger.

Unknown to him, Baron Papanoida watches the door for a long while after it closes behind his son. Words that he couldn’t speak are on his lips. He turns away.

~=~=~=~=~=

Sana Starros watches her partner sleep. She runs her fingers through Aphra’s dark hair. The student stirs, murmuring a few quiet words. Sana reaches down and kisses Aphra’s temple. Her eyes grow troubled as she tries to figure out what to do to fulfill her lover’s dream. She stands from the bed, her tortured muscles, as well as the still-raw wound on her right, _ah,_ _upper_   _rear_ _thigh_ , screaming in protest. Sana pulls on her shirt over her shoulders, leaving it open to the air. After a thought, she picks up a pillow from the bed, bringing it with her. She lays it on the chair, as she gingerly sits and brings her datapad to her. She logs onto a particular holonet site. As it connects, she reaches over to the endtable and pulls her bag to her, opening it and pulling a tiny metal and plastic rectangle from a hidden pouch.

Sana takes a deep breath, eyeing the token. Her mind moves to a dim, vague memory, of a large hand tucking it into her child’s nightgown as she fell asleep. She inserts the token. After several moments, the chime sounds. Sana smiles. _Still valid._

She watches as several hundred images move rapidly on the screen. The chances of finding one along their travel back to Bar’leth is—.

The pad dings. Her eyes lock on the image of a woman.

A woman with crimson skin in a tiny bathing suit, about to dive into a pool. Sana’s eyes lock on a small chain just above the bathing suit bottom. A gold chain with some sort of red jewel hanging from it. She is unable to make out the shape contained within the jewel.

Sana takes a deep breath as she contemplates the woman’s powerful, almost tangible beauty. She recognizes the pool from the orientation holo. A pool on the upper decks of this very liner. She smiles as she sees the amount of the bounty. Enough for Aph’s dream, as well as hers. Her smile fades slightly as she thinks of how to take the bounty. It returns as her eyes light on gauzy curtains covering the viewport. She had been amazed that this steerage-class cabin had possessed a view of the stars.

She pulls herself to her feet and walks over to the bunk. She turns Aphra’s face and touches her lips to hers, kissing her awake. When the dark eyes look at her blearily, she smiles. “Up and at ‘em, sweetie. Maybe we’ll be able to pay your debts.”

Sana Starros, apparently a legacy member in good standing of the Bounty Hunters’ Guild, begins to explain her plan as the other teenager comes more fully awake.

~=~=~=~=~=

Dani Faygan sways gently to the music, the anonymous young businessman holding her tightly. Her body is in the arms of the Fondor shipping scion, but her mind is light-years away.

Her mind is actually in several places. In the Outer Rim, with a young huntress. A huntress who might actually be sleeping in an alley on some backwater colony, waiting for a contact to show with some snippet of information. A snippet of information that may grow another cell in the movement towards the light, or be the catalyst for her to wind up lying in the same alley, bleeding out, her hunt-brother’s name on her lips.

Dani’s mind goes to that hunt-brother. She knows exactly where he is. She had sent him there. He is standing on the roof of the new Imperial Moff’s headquarters in the Scaros sector. About to use his spotty birthright to open a window in the attic. About to use it, and information she had no idea how he had acquired to access the datavaults of the Moff during the transition. To mine it for any knowledge that he could. Information that had caused a shadow to flow over his features when she had asked him about it.

She knows what he looks for. A bit of intelligence on that sector fleet that almost a half-year or so ago had initially set hunt-brother and hunt-sister on a collision course with each other, after thinking the other was dead in the cataclysm that slaughtered their kind, four and a half years before.

Her mind goes to yet another. A young woman sitting in an office. Awake for several days, attending to her duties for a Queen of her adopted world. The world that had taken her in when she thought that she had failed her own. Her duties for the Queen are not the reason for her lack of sleep. Her hidden duties for the Queen’s husband and Viceroy keep her from sleep. Duties spent watching and waiting, waiting on the other two. Sitting at her desk, looking at a comm. Waiting for it to chime, but praying it will not, signifying that one or both of those warriors are dead or captured.

Dani’s eyes tear. The last young woman in her mind’s eye is her foster-sister. They are all the sisters and brother of her heart. The _ta’in-gere’a_ and _tr’ah-gere_ in the words of her birth-tongue.

As the song ends, she kisses the businessman gently and murmurs her regrets. She turns to move to her own bed.

Alone.

She knows that her biology will require connections to maintain her physical, emotional, and mental balance. She grins. The balance of the _gere_ , the _tere_ , and the _dere_. The heart, the mind, and the body. The triumvirate of the Zeltron soul.

Something twitches in at least one of the three as she moves into the corridor.

“Hello,” says a warm voice behind her.

Dani turns around. A beautiful young woman, clad in a revealing gown stands framed in the corridor off-set from the club. The gown is made of a gauzy material, that leaves the young woman’s powerful arms and shoulders bare to the night.

Dani’s eyes narrow. There is something familiar about the pattern on the gown. The bright lights of the club spill from the door and its dance floor, and play over her dark skin, before it closes. Dani smiles softly as the young woman comes closer to her, a warm smile on her face.

“Hello, beautiful,” the younger woman repeats.

Dani is about to reach and touch the woman’s arm, when her heart sinks. She thinks of those three in her mind on the dance floor. She puts her hand up. “I would love to talk, dear, but not tonight. We have most of a ten-day to get acquainted—,”

“We’d rather dance tonight, dearie,” comes a sharp voice from behind.

She whirls. Another young woman, clad in ordinary, drab field clothes, a demented look in her dark eyes stands in the corridor. Dani’s eyes track down her right arm, noting the linear tattoo as she does.

The gaze ends on the small Corellian hideout blaster in her hand. A blaster that goes flying from Dani’s well-aimed foot striking the hand. A slight cry is heard as she counter-spins to strike the young woman’s jaw.

As she moves, a small knife appears in her left hand, adjusting to a reverse grip and slashing behind her. There is another cry. She backpedals to the door of the dance-club. Her mind screams as she feels a cold metal disk on the side of her neck. She tries to fight past the energy flowing into her body as she falls to her knees, then further to her hands. She manages to climb back to her knees. As she brings her head up against the pulses of the stun device, she sees the gowned woman’s companion walk up to her. Everything goes dark as the young woman swings a bottle.

Her last thoughts before the darkness are of those three siblings of her heart.


	3. Escape from a Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ‘bounty hunters’ manage to come up with a plan.
> 
> The rescue team makes contact.
> 
> The ‘prey’ and the ‘rescued’ would debate that she is either.

Aphra curses as she and Sana stumble with the dead weight of the Zeltron woman through the door of their cabin. They dump her on the bed as they try to catch their breath. The woman immediately slides from the bed to the floor. Neither young woman is apparently in any hurry to provide any comfort to her. Aphra touches her jaw gingerly as she ensures that it is still attached from the Zeltron’s roundhouse kick. Her eyes grow thunderous for a moment, but then soften as she sees Sana try to fix the makeshift bandage on her left forearm where the bounty’s hidden knife had scored a hit, just before Aphra had managed to knock her silly with the bottle of expensive Corellian red, lifted from a room service cart.

For the first time, she looks down at their quarry. Her eyebrows raise at the older woman’s obvious beauty. She remembers a crack she had made to her former Imperial employer about a ‘couple of Zeltron beauties of her own.’ She touches her jaw again, adding it to the catalog of pain that includes the blaster wound in her left asscheek, courtesy of another Corellian. She turns and watches as Sana removes her makeshift evening gown, quickly fashioned from the gauzy curtains over the port. She feels her heartrate rise as her eyes play over her lover’s form.

Sana catches her look. “Would you stop looking at me like that? We don’t have time.”

Aphra shakes her head as she hears the Zeltron woman moan. She realizes that the warmth may not just be part of her appreciation for Sana’s form. She sees Sana smirking as she hurriedly pulls on her field clothes.

“Only you could get a case of the screaming thigh sweats from an unconscious woman, dear,” she says. Her face grows serious. “Come on. You need to get your mind off of what is between your legs. We need to tie her up and figure out our next move.”

Aphra watches as she pulls her shirt down. Sana picks up the remnants of her ‘gown’ and begins to tear it in smaller pieces. A few minutes and several complicated knots later and the Zeltron prisoner is trussed up. Aphra pulls the large duffel bag that they had found in the luggage compartment and throws it next to the woman.

“Just so you can get your feels in, sweetie, give her another frisk,” Sana says.

Aphra manages to keep from rolling her eyes, a major feat for her as she kneels and runs her hands over the woman’s body. They had earlier found and removed three other knives on her body, other than the one she had used to cut Sana. Aphra only finds smooth crimson skin under her hands. She watches as Sana redresses her wound, using one of their scarce bacta packets. The bleeding has finally slowed to a few drops.

She stands up and touches Sana’s face, giving her a quick kiss. Sana returns it, then sits down. They both manage to wrestle the bounty into the large duffel, keeping it unzipped around the woman’s face so that she can breathe. They sit next to the large bag, staring at her. Aphra checks her blaster. “We need to find some other weapons,” she says, absently. “So how are we getting her off the ship? Was there a pickup arrangement in the bounty notice?”

Sana sits looking at the woman. She starts. “Huh? Yeah. But we don’t want to use them. Some unscrupulous characters might send somebody to kill us so they don’t have to pay the bounty.”

Aphra digests this. “Lovely way to make 100K,” she says dryly.

“Don’t see you coming up with anything better, sweetie,” Sana says. “This is for your dream, not necessarily mine,” she finishes with a hint of an edge.

Aphra nods. She picks up her datapad. “I might be able to help with getting out of here. We are about an hour from the first stop. We’ll be dropping out of hyperspace. There are some private vessels—starhoppers and the like with hyperdrives. If I can get close to one, I might be able to slice it. Doesn’t take an ace slicer for some of these pleasure barges.”

“Okay. That is one problem. What about getting sweet-cheeks here to the hangar?” Sana says with a grin. “We were able to pretend she was our drunken conquest when getting her here, but might be hard pressed to try it for where the ships are.”

“I’ll see if I can include a cargo droid with the slice,” Aphra says. “You might better go to her cabin and gather her things up. We’ll take them with us, so people might not miss her.”

“Good thinking, dear. I’m on my way. Go ahead and gag and blindfold her as well, in case she wakes up.”

Aphra reaches over and touches her cheek. “Be careful.”

“What could happen? I am leaving you in here with her.”

At that, she is gone. Aphra sighs and gathers up other remnants of the cloth for her first task.

~=~=~=~=~=

Sana Starros keys open the door to the Zeltron’s quarters. She immediately begins searching the drawers and closets, finding a light carryall in the closet. She dumps the clothing into the carryall haphazardly. Her eyebrows raise and she actually blushes as she picks up a couple of items that are obviously from the woman’s homeworld. She is sure that Aphra would be interested in testing those. For her socio-anthropology studies, of course.

It is a couple of other items that draw her deeper interest, for her own particular profession. A small Corellian blaster and one more, larger knife is hidden beneath the contents of the woman’s underwear drawer. She smiles as she tucks them both in her belt under her jacket.

So enamored of the weapons is Sana that she ignores a closer examination of a small leather wallet, laying on the nightstand. She absently picks it up and tosses it on top of the clothing of the carryall. She continues to ignore the fact that it has fallen open. Open to display a gold four-pointed star within a gold wreath. A fifth gold star sits in the center. Scandocs with the woman’s holo and a code cylinder are opposite the shield. If she had seen the item, she would have gathered up her friend and stolen the ship immediately, leaving the woman tied up in their cabin.

The gold object is the symbol of law and peace enforcement agencies the galaxy over, at least in the distant past. The design is from a world that still uses the symbol. A modern world, but one that preserves tradition and history as they can. A world that also does not take kindly to people stealing their own, as well.

Sana seals the bag over the shield and leaves the cabin. Unknown to her, another small device in the bag starts to blink.

~=~=~=~=~=

Ion Papanoida watches as his school friend, Shilmar Keveen manipulates the controls to bring the small ship out of hyperspace. As it exits, his other friend, Delan Cho looks up at him through his right eye—the only one remaining.

“Remind me again why we are going to save the ass of a woman who cheated us out of several thousand credits?” he asks, his huge frame sitting as if poured in the navigator’s seat behind Ion and Keveen.

“Well, as I will remind you,” Ion replies, “she beat us at greenputt, fair and octagonal. She didn’t cheat. Also, you were so goddamned arrogant, that you missed a couple of easy shots that could’ve pulled us a bit closer before she showed her true skill.”

“Yes, but we should’ve been able to beat her. De’s brawn, my charm, and your brains should’ve covered everything,” Shil adds.

Ion smirks at his smaller friend. “Well, you were too busy looking at her ass in the skirt, as well as trying to look down her top to be of use. He was having a shitty day on the course, and I was too damned arrogant as the Chairman’s son to think I could lose,” he says, with a rueful grin.

Shil smiles at his lifelong friend. He punches Ion. “Yeah, Moon Goddess,” he says. “You’re lucky we still talk to you.”

“Luck might be yours, Flower. I was pissed at how both of you patronized her. You’d think we were back in the Brotherhood on campus.”

He shakes his head as he sees both of them have the good sense to hang their heads. He feels a powerful warmth for both of them. Two men who had stood by him, even when he had become what he had hated. An arrogrant prat, who capitalized on his father’s status and wealth. “The other, bigger reason, is that I owe her.” he says. “She helped me extricate myself out of a legal predicament that could have had serious consequences for Pantora.” He grins broadly. “But, most important for you lot, is that she is your ticket to a ten-day on the _Corellian Star’s_ first-class accommodations, if this turns out to be nothing.” His grin takes on a devilish cast. “Plus, we might can figure out some sort of a rematch.”

“I am sure that you are trying to figure out something to beat her at, Moon,” Major Delan Cho, Pantoran Defense Forces, says, his white eyebrows waggling.

Ion turns and punches him. “That is the kind of talk that might get you a beating, Trunk,” he says.

Shil rolls his eyes. “I guess it is up to your spiritual advisor to keep you from making an ass of yourself, Ion,” he says. He touches an ornate chain that hangs from his neck.

It is Ion’s turn to roll his eyes. “You don’t exactly have an exemplary record, to be talking about much in that realm, your Reverence,” he says.

The Lord Honorable Junior Prelate of the Moon Goddess smirks. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, son. As a member of the cloth, I am allowed to exercise all of the Seven Appetites of the Moon Goddess. I just can’t ever marry.”

“Yeah, I know,” Cho says. “You’ve been exercising them until I thought you would rupture something.” He grows serious. “We do owe her an apology for our behavior. She was very skilled. Would actually love to talk greenputt with her.”

The warmth for the two ingrates, as Ion’s father called them, grows once again. A chime on his datapad sounds. He looks down. His heart clinches.

“What?” Trunk says. He doesn’t answer. Cho touches his cheek on the familial tattoos. “What is it, Ion?” he asks again.

“Somebody just signaled that they claimed the bounty.” He looks at both of them. “We don’t have a lot of time when they exit hyperspace. We have to get onboard before any ships come off.”

Shil, the best pilot of them, nods. Delan begins to scan for the signature of the large ship’s displacement.

~=~=~=~=~=

Papanoida and his compatriots exit their small ship in the hangar bay of the huge liner. They begin to look to and fro for any signs of Dani. There are several small ships in the massive hangar bay—ranging from starhoppers to small pleasure craft. They all appear to be locked up tight, save one.

A small yacht, expensive and shiny—expensive and shiny enough that Delan Cho, a connoisseur of luxury, allows his remaining gold eye to light up, has its ramp down. Ion’s eyes narrow as he sees that two young women, both dressed in down-on-their-luck spacer and field clothing, are overseeing the loading of cargo by an antigrav pallet.

He jerks his head at the ingrates. Shil nods and goes back to their ship. Trunk follows him as he gets closer. He looks at the two women more closely. One, the taller of the two looks around and surveys the area around the ship with suspicion. She pulls on a pair of backless pilot’s gloves as she gazes. The other woman looks no less capable, but there is something about her. She wears a strange floppy hat with goggles.

It is when he sees her eyes that his right hand tightens moves to the butt of his holstered blaster. Dark, almond-shaped eyes with a demented cast to them, a cast now calmed, but with the potential for insanity. A linear tattoo with circles interspersed decorates her forearm and bicep on the right side.

As he digest this, he and Delan look at one another as they are assailed by a distinctive sensation. A sensation that they had last felt, in a more restrained fashion when a beautiful Zeltron was wiping the ground with them in a greenputt dome on Pantora. One that had tickled both of their, as well as the Prelate’s genitals with promise.

A feeling amplified tenfold. Cho’s eyes widen as he points. “Look, Moon. The duffel.”

The synthcanvas bag begins to undulate on the antigrav pallet.

“Stop,” Ion yells. The two women waste no time.

Ion and Delan jump for cover as blaster bolts fly towards them. Ion looks up, just in time to see the pallet and its cargo disappear into the ship.

He jumps to his feet and draws both of his rapid-fire blasters, unloading both of them at the two women.

He stops as he feels the rumble of the yacht’s engines change in pitch and volume. He continues to charge as the yacht moves towards the open magnetic shield.

“Ion, stop,” Cho yells. He hears his friend curse as he jumps and manages to grab a flight surface on the ship. One of his blasters falls, but he maintains his grip on the other. He aims the other at the ship, but thinks better of it as the ship accelerates towards space. He feels a meaty hand grab his foot and yank. He and Cho both curse in a rapid cacophony as they tumble off and roll. The ship clears the door and is in space. Ion slumps.

“What the hell were you trying to do, Ion?” Cho asks, his tone sharp. The large Pantoran gets up, his arm hanging useless.

“Trying to stop them from taking her.”

“By breathing vacuum?” Shil asks as he walks up.

“What the hell are you doing here? You should be getting after them.” Ion shouts at his friend.

Shil smirks. “Don’t have to. You weren’t the only one hanging on to the thing. The bruiser there managed to slip a hyperspace tracker on it before he fell off. What the hell did you accomplish?”

Ion looks down. “Not much,” he whispers.

His comm begins to beep, with two distinctive tones. He checks the location code for the first one. He closes his eyes.

_Corellia._


	4. Escape from Brilliance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An example is set by the new Chief of Examples.
> 
> Pantorans vs. Corellians, over a holocomm.
> 
> The beginning of a self-rescue.

Naida Bryx, oldest daughter and second child of Neesa of Clan Bryx of the Outmarches of Rodia, sits next to her mother in her audience chamber. They both sit as equals at the oval table, even though Naida knows it is not true. The younger Rodian gazes at the empty chair on the other side of—the place of honor—her mother.

She watches Neesa Bryx gaze at the empty spot in front of the table, her scarred visage pensive, but relaxed. Naida allows her eyes to move to the empty spot. To the preparation made for this particular meeting. Preparations that an untutored eye would not recognize. Preparations including the replacement of an expensive, original handmade rug with a replica—a cheap knock-off from their shared culture.

Naida had been attending these particular meetings since she was a small child. She knew what to expect, even if the guest at the meeting is unaware. Her heart sinks as she thinks of what her clan—indeed, what her family has become.

A stereotype.

She looks up as the guest walks in. A young human, confident in his swagger, his hand twitching against his thigh. A place where his weapon ordinarily hangs, at every waking moment.

“Hello, Diro,” Neesa says in her strange, deep voice. A voice that has a vibratory quality to any ears other than those of her people.

“Mistress,” he says, a slight incline of his head. Naida’s crest falls in annoyance between her eyes at the effrontery. _Just enough respect to get by._

“I am very disappointed, Diro, that you chose to space your last shipment. I think that you could have been more creative in slipping past the blockade.”

His eyes narrow. His handsome face remains even, but Naida can see the anger growing. “Wasn’t the Imps I was worried about. Those damned Corellians are a lot less tolerant.”

“Some Corellians can be bribed, dear,” Neesa says. “They are, after all, one step above criminals themselves, these cops.”

“These were Rangers. They don’t really have a sense of humor, Mistress.” the human says.

Neesa’s amusement can be heard in her voice. “Neither do I dear. You spaced twenty Rutian Twi’lek units. They are hard to replace.”

Diro shake his head. “Well, you haven’t paid me, so we’re even. I guess we are done here.”

He turns to go. As he does, Naida sees him nearly run into a figure of medium height, his arms crossed. Naida stares at the figure. A slight look of amusement plays on his bland features, features centered on a slightly more bulbous nose than human normal. That and a pair of dead gray eyes.

“Meet the newest member of my staff. Girka Deshas. He is in charge, of, ah, internal marketing.”

The air of menace is thick. Diro shakes his head. “Not really impressed, Neesa,” he says. “What the hell is internal marketing?”

Neesa’s amusement is heard again in her voice. “He sets examples.”

Diro tries to push past him. Deshas looks to the matriarch, who nods almost absently. Naida tries to look away, but the look of disgust that Neesa shoots her forces her to look. Deshas, with a lightning fast move, clamps his hands on the human’s shoulders. Diro tries to shake him off, but the grip is like steel. Deshas focuses his gaze on the slaver. Two thin tentacles shoot out from either side of the prominent nose. Like unleashed snakes, the tentacles move up the human’s face, until they reach their objective.

The human, who had been calm, and contemptuous of Neesa, suddenly begins to scream as the tendrils make contact. He struggles harder as the appendages languorously move into his nostrils. There is a wet, thrusting sound as the tentacles shoot upwards. Diro’s movements and sounds are cut off in mid-scream and twist. He slumps as the tentacles tighten in his nostrils.

A sucking noise is heard as Girku Deshas feeds. As an example is set.

Neesa turns to her daughter. “See that his family is charged for the slaves,” she says tersely.

Naida can only turn away, disgusted by the spectacle. She doesn’t care if Neesa sees her reaction.

As soon as the Anzat enforcer is finished, his tentacles retract. There is no sign that he is any different than any other near-human, except for the unnatural glow to his skin. He drops the husk of Diro on the imitation rug.

Neesa smiles at him. “I hope that your meal was satisfactory, Girku,” she says.

“A trifle bland and unimaginative,” he says in an oddly accented voice.

Neesa laughs. “The perfect way to describe him.” She grows serious. “So, my enforcer, tell me how the project to avenge my son’s arrest and crippling goes?”

“The bounty has been claimed on a Corellian liner. They should be here with the woman in a few hours.”

Neesa gives a chortle. “Good. That woman broke my son and killed twelve of my soldiers. She cost me a few slaves in examples, as well. It will be a joy to film her demise. You have done more to advance this revenge than anyone else.” She looks at him. “Zeltron might be a bit rich for you, dear,” she says. “You will have to make sure that you will take your time to finish your meal.”

Girku laughs and then nods. “It will be a pleasure, my lady. One thing though, my lady. The bounty hunter that registered the take. It is a strange code. One that is a legacy, but also is close to being obsolete.”

Neesa takes this in. Naida can see the servos turning. “I leave it in your hands, Enforcer. If you feel that it is worth it, that they are not in good standing with the Guild, you may have some dessert. We can’t afford to make enemies of the hunters.”

“I will handle it, my lady.”

As Neesa and Deshas leave the room, Naida stares at the husk of the body. A body drained of its life force and essence. _All of this because her brother was too stupid to recognize a cop. Too willing to kill_. The young woman buries her face in her hands. Her crest, in a rare purple color for her species, falls close to her skull.

~=~=~=~=~=

Delan Cho watches as Ion Papanoida argues with a craggy faced old human. He grins as he tries to figure out who might be winning the argument.

“….listen, you old bastard. We let you know as soon as we found out. We just decided to go and do something about it rather than sitting around with our thumbs up our asses,” Ion says, his tone rising.

A look from the Corellian crosses the light years. _Something tells me he gives that look a lot._

“Yeah, well, you could’ve just let us know and kept your collective noses out of our business. Now we’re probably just as likely to have to pull your asses out of the fire,” Draq’ Bel Iblis says.

De’s eyebrows raise as he sees the old man, the Dragon of Corellia soften, his shoulders slumping. “But I am grateful that you didn’t.” Cho sees Ion’s eyes widen as he takes in the old man’s words.

“There is more to this, isn’t there, Dragon? Something more than a missing officer?”

Bel Iblis shakes his head. “Something I can’t tell you, Ion, as far as that goes. But I don’t tell anyone about that.” He looks straight into the pickup. “The bad thing is, I can’t send anyone after her. I don’t have anyone. The Rangers are all tied up acting like Peacekeepers on Dani’s world. My primary hardass, is doing something else as well, as is an ally or two.”

“Is your primary hardass, as you call him, somebody who got his ass locked up on my world a year or so ago? Around the time Dani wiped us out at greenputt?”

For the first time since the call began, De sees a smile quirk the old man’s lips. “Yeah. You can take comfort in the fact that he is not in jail, just out of comm range, in a, uh, delicate situation.” The smile turns into a full-fledged grin. “He is just as big of a pain in the ass on his own world as he is on yours.”

He sobers. “So where did this transmission originate again? The bounty?”

“Rodia. The Bryx clan lands,” Ion replies.

“Thought so,” Draq’ says. He looks down. To De Cho, he looks almost defeated. He looks up at them. “Something might have come home to roost for Dani. Something that she did at the start of the Clone Wars.”

His eyes grow pensive with the memories. “She went undercover. She was young, but very good. Deep cover in Hutt space—Tattooine, to be exact. She was tracking a slaver who had murdered a Corellian citizen. She had done the legwork on Corellia, and even though she wasn’t a Ranger, yet—one who could work outside of our space to protect our interests—she had made the contacts. I decided to let her go. Everything was going okay, until she went off the grid. I was worried, but I wasn’t quite ready to send in the Rangers.”

“We didn’t hear anything until a stolen shuttle jumped into Corellian space. It broadcast a recognition signal. I met it at the dock. The ramp came down, and there she was. A blaster wound in her shoulder. Dragging a Rodian scumbag by his binders. Not really too tender about the fact that she had broken both of his legs in a couple of places.”

He looks away. De can see traces of moisture in his eyes. Moisture and something else. _Intense pride_. Pride that can be felt across the distance.

“She wasn’t tender because the asshole, Knih Bryx—the eldest son of the slaver ring, had made Dani watch—after she was made and captured—no, _forced_ her to watch him slaughter ten slaves—men, women, and children in front of her.”

“She managed to get free, and set off a grenade that killed a dozen of Knih’s soldiers.” He grins. “That was the just a couple of the breaks in his legs. The others came from a couple of roundhouse kicks, and then shoving him off of the landing platform before she escaped with him, when he got a little sassy.”

“Knih’s mother, the matriarch, a sociopath named Neesa, vowed vengeance, blah, blah, blah. Guess she got busy trying to save her little kingdom from larger scumbags like the Pykes, Black Sun, and the Zygerrians.”

De feels the intense blue gaze through the holocom. He is sure that Ion and Shil do, as well.

“Dani has never spoken of this. At least not to me. I learned it secondhand.” He closes her eyes. “There was one other that she probably told, at that time,” he whispers.

He looks up. “I am sending you the frequency to her stress call that she activated. It is inactive, but that only means she is probably in hyperspace.”

De feels the old Dragon’s resolve as he locks eyes with them. “Find her. Bring her home to me.” With that, he signs off.

Delan Cho smiles at the particular pronoun used.

_To me._

~=~=~=~=~=

Daaineran Faygan, for about the thousandth time, curses her sudden turn of abstinence, as she struggles against her bonds and the gag. _I could’ve had my legs wrapped around that businessman’s back about now. Or nudging him awake with my mouth. But noooooo. I had to be thinking and worrying about others._

 _Others_ who would’ve been cheering her on, rather than letting her worry about them.

Dani can feel herself beginning to struggle to breathe, as the two nitwits had not unzipped the duffel after dumping her. She fights to move her hands down her legs. For once, she is thankful she did not get the height of her mother’s people, or of her father. She shakes her head. She had managed to activate the remote stress call on the extra bangle on the bond-chain at her waist. Hopefully Draq’ would be sending someone, to at least back her up when she made her play.

At no time does her mind go to the possibility that she might need a rescue. Her hand touches the heel of her sandal. The right one. She fights against the strained muscles as she grasps the back of the heel. A slight protrusion that most would dismiss as a decorative affectation.

_There._

The decorative affectation, in the form of yet another punch knife, this one a vibro-dagger, makes short work of her bonds on hands and feet. There is a loud ripping sound as she cuts through the heavy canvas. She gasps as she sits up and yanks the gag from her mouth, as well as the blindfold. She takes the moment to take several deep breaths.

Dani swings the rest of her body out of the overlarge bag. She staggers a bit, both from lack of air, and the affects of the bottle upside her head. She touches the slight swelling gingerly, wincing at the pain. She takes two tentative steps, finds that the room no longer spins, and looks around her.

Dani realizes that she is in a small cabin, the cramped type common to small star-yachts and hoppers. She looks ruefully down at her revealing, short cocktail dress. Her extremely tight, short cocktail dress. “Remind me to put function over form, next time,” she whispers to herself.

She grins. _Gotta look good doing it, babe_ , she thinks. She walks over to the small console on the desk. A couple of typed commands and she knows where she is. She hefts the punch-dagger and activates it. She grins as her eyes fall on a bottle of wine. Dani hefts it and walks out of the cabin, intent on doing her worst.


	5. The Hook

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two would-be bounty hunters have their doubts.
> 
> Three criminals, one sanctioned by the Empire, plot their moves.
> 
> The subject of all of these plans takes matters into her own hands.

Aphra watches the controls while Sana dozes next to her. She smiles and reaches over and touches the would-be bounty hunter on her cheek. The pilot stirs, mutters something. Aphra turns back to her datapad as she runs the history of Rodia for any angle. Any angle that might help them both figure out what their path might be. _Or at least hers._

She is not sure what Sana’s might be. She and her lover and erstwhile partner have been through a great deal since Sana had touched her hand in a club—touched her skin with a hint of promise. Five minutes before they were in a back corridor of the club, their shirts opened and their trousers and underwear down around their ankles.

Aphra does not know what to make of the hesitance to return with her to Bar’leth. Sana had always been supportive of all of her schemes to advance in the academic world, albeit with copious amounts of snark and sarcasm. This time, she is willing to put whatever she can into finding the funds so that Aphra can continue with her education, as well as paying back several vendors who had backed her various explorations. Vendors that generally had no interest in academia, only the arcane weapons that she was able to find on the side. Vendors that weren’t as forgiving of failure as most academic panels and juries. Vendors with organizational names such as Black Sun, and even Pyke remnants.

A Vigo of Black Sun, Xizor, had taken particular interest in one of her pursuits—the search for a database on an old Separatist fighter on a jungle moon. A search that had led her to a confrontation with a Togruta woman who, in a word, had cleaned Aphra’s chronometer.

Perhaps the threat of Aphra’s repurposed battledroids blowing her into chunks had been incentive for leaving Aphra unconscious on Yavin 4. Unconscious and hemmed in by very large snake-like creatures—creatures that had ripped her battledroids apart with ease. Only after she had awoken and managed to manipulate her small shuttle to her with a jury-rigged remote control and had achieved orbit, had she realized someone had destroyed a Black Sun fighter.

She was quite sure that her antagonist, the powerful Togruta, had taken care of the fighter. A fighter most likely sent to relieve her of the database that the Vigo had wanted. A database that incidentally contained important historical data for her dissertation treatment. Data that the Togruta had sanitized and given to her in a second encounter on Bar’leth. An encounter in which Aphra had paid the young woman back with a punch to her mouth. A punch which had caused the fighter to bring a powerful Smirk to her face, spit out blood, then calmly offer to teach her how to punch.

Aphra had heard nothing from Black Sun. She had taken any job she could find to build funds, just in case they had come calling. Including one that should’ve been an easy artifact recovery for an Imperial moff. A recovery of a Zeltron book from a caretaker. A caretaker with powerful friends. A job that had very nearly ended with her and her partner strapped to tables, watching each other’s limbs being sliced off, one section at a time, in a painful, slow death for treason.

A chime sounds on her datapad. She grins at what she reads on the screen. _Maybe we can pad the earnings from the Zeltron,_ she thinks. _Or at the least get a debt forgiven._

~=~=~=~=~=

Xizor’s fingers play gently over the soft skin of the woman’s back. He hears her slight moans as he maneuvers her in the tub. He feels her legs come out of the water and wrap around his back as he enters her.

As he thrusts into the human, his mind is only half-focused on the building pleasure. He thinks of his status in Black Sun. He has fought his way up to the rank of Vigo, but is already a Prince of the Second Rank, of the Exalted Family of Falleen. His mind is occupied by thoughts of how he can raise his standing in the organization and maneuver Ziton Moj from his position as the Underlord, a misnomer for the leader of the criminal organization.

He looks up from his exertions and his thoughts, as he senses another presence enter the room. Only one other being had permission to enter whenever he was _engaged_. He smiles over the shoulder of his bath-mate. His principal assistant watches, a look of amusement on her beautiful features as he increases the speed of his thrusts. He sees her blue eyes gaze appraisingly at the human woman. Xizor raises his eyebrow ridge in invitation. After a moment, she shakes her head, her uncharacteristic bright red ponytail twitching with the movement.

“What do you have for me, Tera?” he asks, his breathing even and measured as the woman’s screams rise.

“There has been a bounty claimed by a known associate of one of our failures.” she says.

“Oh? One that is still alive?”

“Yes. The archaeologist. The one you wouldn’t let me end.”

“Didn’t see the need. Especially when we are probably getting the information from other sources.”

“It sets a bad precedent.”

He doesn’t reply as he returns his focus on the woman building to to her finish. She gasps at his sharp teeth on her shoulder.

“Why am I interested in this? I don’t want to waste time on Aphra,” he asks as he moves his teeth from the soft skin. He allows a thoughtful look to move over his face as he gently kisses the small wound on the woman’s shoulder. “Although, she might be useful. In one way or the other.”

“Because the bounty was put out by the Bryx clan. Against a Corellian officer.”

He feels the woman stiffen under him. He kisses her, notes the troubled expression under the abandon.

“Could be our chance to move in on the Bryxes, Xizor,” Tera says.

He feels himself let go, as the woman’s explosion mirrors his.

As her respirations come under control, she looks up at him. “I would be interested to know how a bunch of slavers have a bounty on a Corellian officer,” she says as she tosses her reddish-blond hair. Her dark eyes are hard.

He notices that Tera is now removing her clothing as he and the human disengage. The sub-Vigo slips into the water, submerging herself totally.

Both Xizor and his partner wait with varying degrees of patience. The Vigo busies himself moving his mouth over the woman’s breasts. She tries to concentrate on her question as his pheremones begin another assault on her mind and body.

A sensory assault that is doubled as Tera finally rises from the water, after only a fraction of the extraordinary amount of time that their species can spend under water. It is her turn to wait patiently. Finally, Xizor and the woman focus on her.

“Apparently the Corellian arrested the eldest son during the war. Neesa is not exactly the most forgiving of women.” She curls her lip in distaste. “The officer is also a Zeltron.”

Xizor growls his own disgust. The human raises her eyebrows, then smiles.

“I think that I know who this officer is. If you have an interest in saving her, she could be important leverage if I was able to somehow insert myself in her salvation.”

Xizor calms. “This might be a sacrifice for me, my dear. My people hate Zeltrons. I would not weep if Neesa roasted her over a pit.”

The woman smiles. “Perhaps I can make it up to you, my dear Prince,” she says, a devilish smile creasing her face.

Xizor’s smile is more in keeping with his species. The Corellian starts as she feels Tera’s lips and teeth start to play over her shoulders and back.

The Dark Prince watches the sister of Ziton Moj, his lord and greatest rival for ultimate power in Black Sun, move her mouth over the human’s skin. Just for a moment, before he joins in on the Corellian’s front.

~=~=~=~=~=

The human woman watches as the two Falleen finally sleep. She grins ruefully at the marks on her skin. She is certain that they bear a few marks of hers, in at least a few areas that might be softer than most of their bodies. She pulls the gray-green tunic over her dress shirt, pulling and fastening the flap, looking down to ensure that the rank plaque with its six pairs of tiles is straight. She slides the four code cylinders into their pockets.

As she looks at herself in the mirror, her dark eyes narrow as she sees the mark on her tan skin over the collar of her tunic. She busies herself pulling her collar higher as she thinks of what the Black Sun bosses had told her. It would be a coup if she was able to put Draq’ Bel Iblis in her debt. It would make her assigned tasks that much easier. Her vengeance for her mother’s exile would be that much easier, as well.

She sighs. She would have to navigate the Falleen disgust at the young officer’s species. Delilah Sal,  newly appointed Imperial Advisor of the Corellian Sector, smiles as she thinks of the possibilities.

~=~=~=~=~=

Another chime, this from the console, lets Aphra know that they have reached their destination. She leans over and places her lips against Sana’s. “Hey, dear,” she says. “Time to put your game face on. Let’s get the Zeltron.”

Sana stretches as Aphra begins to bring them out of hyperspace. The student sees her face grow pensive.

“What, Sana?” she asks. “You’ve got that ‘changing your mind in mid-jump’ look.”

“Just kind of thinking about turning over that woman to the Bryxes. They are slavers. I didn’t get the ‘scum’ vibe from the Zeltron.”

“Sweetie—,” Aphra starts.

“No. My father was a bounty hunter. No matter how bad things were, he never took a job that wouldn’t let him sleep at night.”

“Sana. Why did you even suggest this, if you weren’t going follow through?”

“I read the notice a bit more. It asked for alive, but not undamaged,” Sana says.

“So?” Aphra asks.

“That means they are wanting to kill her themselves.”

“Better her than us, dear.” Aphra says. “Bringing us out of hyperspace.” As she pulls back on the lever and the stars slow, warning klaxons and lights blare and flash. Aphra feels her stomach drop and twist as the ship mirrors her movement. She sees Sana go flying across the cockpit.

A burning smell cuts through her nostrils and her senses. Sana manages to climb up the wall and clamber back to the seat. “We’re in for it.”

“What the hell happened?” Aphra asks.

A new voice from behind answers. “Somebody that you pissed off yanked your re-entry modulator.”

Aphra feels cold glass against her neck. She looks over sees a small vibroknife against Sana’s own pulsing artery.

Her eyes track up to the Zeltron holding both weapons. She is still clad in the short dress that she had been taken in. Her feet are steady against the yawing and pitching. At least until there are two large bangs from the aft, from the engine compartment.

All three young women go flying. Aphra grunts as her head connects with the aft bulkhead. The ship lists again. She realizes that the Zeltron, Faygan, is lying on top of her. In spite of the danger, Aphra feels a warmth much further down than the wetness she feels at the back of her head.

Faygan’s purple eyes narrow at her. “As much as I would like to see what you have under the field clothes,” she says in a warm voice—a tiny hint of a drawl in it, “we have more important things to think about.” She gives a rueful look. “I think I overdid it.”

Aphra shoves her off. Her hand goes to the blaster at her waist. Her hand falls on an empty holster. She feels a tap of metal against her temple. Faygan smirks. “Think we might better go, sweetie.”

Aphra’s eyes widen as they fall on the crumpled heap to her left. “Sana!” she yells, shoving the Zeltron. She is at Sana’s side in a second. Sana moans. “Come on, idiot,” Aphra says.

Their ex-prisoner runs her hands over Sana’s head. “She’s got a bump on her noggin, but nothing else that I can tell. Pretty much like all of us.” She smirks for a second, then grows serious. “We need to get out of here.” Her eyes fall on something in the corner. Recognition flows to her features. She walks over and picks up the abandoned carryall and slings it over her shoulders.

Faygan turns back to Aphra and grabs an arm of her unconscious partner. “Come on, twit. Let’s hit the lifepod.”

As the two of them stumble towards their escape with the insensible woman between them, Aphra reaches down and scoops up two items of her own. An ugly-ass hat and a datapad.


	6. Diving into Chaos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Dragon shows his cards with an Imperial—as well as his daughter-in-law.
> 
> The ‘rescue team’ prepares to jump off of a cliff.
> 
> On Rodia—it is on.

Draq’ Bel Iblis starts from his thoughts of missing daughters as his son walks into the room. He stands up from his place by the fire and perfunctorily embraces Garm. His eyes grow thunderous as the person following him moves into the sitting room. He eyes his daughter-in-law with disdain as his eyes track up her form, clad in the gray-green of an Imperial functionary. He manages to turn the look into a smile a couple of degrees off from the full force of the expression that has built his reputation the galaxy over, as his eyes lock on her swollen belly. _Didn’t know the Imps made a maternity uniform_ , he thinks idly.

Both of them make a show of kissing the air near each other’s cheeks. He stares at her for a long moment. “So, Countess, you have moved from just whispering in Sal’s ear, to actually working for her?” he asks.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees his son move straight to the whisky decanter. Arrianya Bel Iblis-Tagge merely smiles. “Yes. I have been appointed the Imperial Advisor’s Chief of Staff. Someone has to counteract all of your poodoo. Poodoo that seems to be taking the Five Brothers down a dangerous road.”

Draq’ sees Garm take a gulp of his whisky as he tries to calm his anger. Draq’ calms, if only for his next grandchild resting under that ugly Imperial gaberwool. “Perhaps. But at least I know the meaning of family and loyalty. Outdated concepts, I know, Countess, but ones that I live by.”

His daughter-in-law smiles her own dangerous smile. “Believe it or not, Dragon, I do, too. I also know what it means to be loyal to the state. To order, not just to my family.’

“Yeah. I am sure that the Tagges appreciate that, my dear.” He turns to his son, deliberately shoving the woman from his mind and his attention.

He ignores his daughter-in-law’s own thunderous look. Without a word, she turns and exits.

“Well, Dragon, you certainly have a way with people,” Garm says, handing him his own whisky.

Draq’ nods his thanks. “Sorry, son. She just sets my teeth on edge. I know you love her, but—,” he starts.

Garm holds his hand up. “I know. I’ve heard it all before. Believe me. I have said it myself.”

His son shakes his head. “Is there any more on Dani?” he asks, changing the subject. Albeit to one no less painful for the old man.

“No. I have some offworld interests looking into it. I have Bryne working on something else, otherwise I would have him move on it. Or go myself.”

Garm shakes his head. “I don’t think that would be a good idea, Dragon. Sal is just sniffing around, waiting for you to step on your dick.”

Draq’ rolls his eyes. “You worry about your own appendages, boy,” he says, his blue eyes piercing into his son.

Garm’s brown eyes do not back away. Draq’ sighs as he regrets his words. He concentrates on those dark windows. Eyes that had cut him apart when he had done or said something stupid. Eyes inherited from his mother, instead of the gray eyes of her father and brother.

Draq’ doesn’t back away either.

At least not until he sees Garm put his drink down, as if ready to roll up his sleeves. He sends an entreaty for forgiveness to the other bearer of those brown eyes. A bearer now dead over thirty years.

“I am sorry, Garm,” he says, holding up his arms. “I think this thing with Dani has got me tied up in knots.”

They both fall silent as thoughts of family supplant all others.

~=~=~=~=~=

Shilmar Keveen stares at the stars as the small ship exits hyperspace. He turns to Delan Cho as the large officer manipulates his arm, after his stint in bacta.

“Trunk, see if you can lock onto the tracker that you managed to place, as well as Dani’s locator beacon. See if they are still together.”

De nods and turns to the comm console. “On it, Flower,” he says.

Shil turns to Ion. “Do we have a plan, Moon?” he asks.

Ion takes a moment to reply. Finally, he says, “Not really. We don’t know who has her or what their capabilities are.”

Shil sighs. “Guess we’ll have to settle for planning for the worst,” he says.

Ion nods absent-mindedly.

Cho gives a puzzled grunt. “I only have Dani’s locator. Nothing on the ship. I am picking up a great deal of wreckage on this trajectory,” he says.

“Where is Dani’s doodad?” Ion asks.

Cho twists knobs on the console. “On the surface. It is away from any civilized areas. In the bush,” he finishes. He looks up. “I am detecting something else.” He stares at Ion, as if dreading giving him the news. “An automatic trigger homing beacon. Consistent with a lifepod.”

Ion nods, digesting this. Beside him, Shil closes his eye in a brief prayer.

“See if you can pick up any human or near-human life signs,” Ion says.

De smiles tightly. “It might be hard. Jungles are teeming with life. Hard to filter, sometimes.”

It only takes a few minutes. Minutes that seem like hours. Finally, De speaks. “Nothing near the lifepod, but I am detecting a large party moving out from the location consistent with the Bryx seat.”

“That complicates things,” Shil says. “Wonder why they are on foot?”

De speaks up. “Iono-magnetic storms are bad. You’re not going to be able to put down close.”

“We need an edge. A stealthy one,” Shil says.

Ion brings his palms together with a crack. Shil jumps, looks sheepish at De’s smirk.

“HAtLO. Get us to just at suborbital,” he says. He stands up.

“Now wait a minute, Ion. Let’s talk about this. A high atmo, low opening ingress ain’t exactly something to scoff at.”

“Got a better idea, Trunk?” Ion asks quietly.

“Well, no, but—,”

“Good. Let’s get the gear ready.”

De tries one final path. “How many have you actually done?”

Ion doesn’t answer, instead continues on his way.

De manages to snag his arm. “How many, Ion?” he says, gritting his teeth.

“One hundred sixty-seven,” the Chairman’s son says. Cho raises his eyebrow. Shil grinds his teeth in frustration.

Ion cannot meet his eye. “In simulation,” he adds quietly.

Cho punches his chest.

Ion does not rub his chest, but his defensiveness rises. “Come on. How hard could it be?”

Cho points to his dead left eye. “How do you think I lost this, Ion? This is not something for amateurs,” he says.

“Delan, brother. I wouldn’t do this if it wasn’t important. Important to Pantora and important to me.”

Cho’s eyes narrow, then soften. “What is she to you, Ion?” he asks. Shil listens intently for Ion’s response.

Ion looks down. “She just gave me some new perspectives on things. Including myself,” he says quietly.

Cho touches him on his cheek. “So she told you that you are an asshole? Wow. Someone finally got through.”

Shil can feel the impact of Ion’s hand on Cho’s barrel chest, himself. All three laugh nervously as Ion and De turn towards the equipment locker.

Behind them, Shil looks grim. _They could both be splattered across the landscape very easily in that jungle_.

~=~=~=~=~=

The young girl’s mind pushes its way through the gauze and fog that surrounds it. She sees her hand pull one wisp away. In the light that shines through, she sees a tall man lift her child-self to his chest, a chest that allows her to feel the solidity of his scavenged armor. Her mind can just make out the gold trim on the dark plastoid, He pulls her closer to him. As she goes to rest her child’s head against the armor covering his heart, she feels the comforting warmth begin to disintegrate beneath her hands and face. She looks up and sees his dark-skinned face begin to burn, his eyes somehow bursting with light and sound as his laughter rises.

She screams.

Sana jerks awake and sits up, immediately regretting the motion as her head explodes in pain. The pain recedes to a dull ache, almost instantaneously. She manages not to roll over and empty her stomach into the green vegetation. Her mind is assaulted by sensations. A deep, almost fecund smell. Intense, sweltering humidity surrounds her.

Warmth of another sort assaults her in a spot much lower down. She opens her eyes. A lush, emerald and blue landscape flows into her vision. Her eyes fall on a standard escape pod, half-buried in the stinking soil, a long trench dug by an obvious hard landing. Her ears focus on the cacophony of noises from the jungle around them. Sana focuses on one noise among the many, a more structured sound among the hoots, whistles, and cries of the jungle.

A warm voice, humming.

She manages to turn her head with only a modicum of pain. Her eyes fall on a crimson shape bending over, rummaging through the open storage hatch on the escape pod. Sana feels her eyes pop as she realizes that the woman is only clad in a pair of underwear. Her eyes light on the angry scar that bisects the woman’s back, which appears to be a combination of burn and deep laceration. Somehow, it skips her spine and continues down to just above the brightly colored underwear.

The woman turns, unselfconscious in her nudity. A grin creases her features, a hint of devilment on her lips and laughter in her purple eyes. “Good morning. Glad you had a nice nap. Maybe you can actually prove yourself useful, unlike the apparent brains of your operation.”

 _Oh, she has met Aphra_ , some part of Sana’s brain says—the part that is not focused totally on the warmth from Sana’s center. The warmth continues as the Zeltron pulls a tanktop over her chest. Sana’s eyes narrow as she sees the woman reach into a bag. A bag last seen resting where it had been thrown in the cockpit.

“We were about to die in a fiery explosion, as I recall it. You managed to grab your _luggage_?”

“Yeah, well. It had some things in it of sentimental value. Plus a very nice bathing suit. Wasn’t about to abandon it.” The woman lifts a drab jumpsuit from a pile next to the pack; pulls it over her feet and up. She ties the arms of the top part around her waist, then a leather belt from the bag goes over it. Sana realizes that it was the same belt that had adorned the cocktail dress.

“You do travel light, dear,” Sana manages to say. “Thought you would have a whole trunkful of pretty clothes.”

The woman’s grin returns. “Well, I was on vacation. On a liner. I only needed that bathing suit. I had planned to spend it without any clothes on at all, but that didn’t work out.”

Sana smiles at the rueful quality of her voice. “Well, I would be interested in exploring that,” she says.

Faygan’s eyes run over her appraisingly. “Might have been fun, if you hadn’t tried to turn me over to the Bryx clan, so that they could cut my head off or strangle me to death.” Her expression grows fierce. “Plus, I don’t fuck criminal scumbags unless there is something in it for me or mine.”

Sana feels her anger grow. “It takes one to know one, dear. The Bryx don’t put out bounties on ‘nice people’,” she says evenly.

“Well, they do apparently on Corellian cops who break their little boy, as well as put him in prison.”

Sana’s heart and stomach clinch at those words. She closes her eyes, as her mind plays over the angles. She suddenly sees Aphra and her standing in a cafeteria line, both clad in drab orange jumpsuits. When she opens her eyes again, she sees that the cop has pulled on a pair of boots and is draping various knives about her body, to go with at least one additional blaster on her left side. A blaster of Mandalorian manufacture. One that Sana had not found in her cursory search of the woman’s cabin. She sees the woman—she struggles to remember her given name— _Dani_ —place Aphra’s DL-44 on her right side, stuck in the belt.

The thought of the blaster forces her to think of her partner. She looks over to her left. Her eyes meet a pair of familiar brown eyes staring at her. The eyes spark with fury over a piece of dark cloth stuffed and wrapped over her mouth. Sana’s eyes track downward, as she realizes that Aphra’s hands are locked behind her back.

Sana turns to the cop. In an instant, she sees that Dani’s back is turned to her. She shoves the ache in her head down, as well as the sharp pain still present at the opposite end. She manages to rise as her path clears.

She is conscious of warm skin against her face as she tackles the officer.


	7. Hunting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A jump into the unknown.
> 
> Disgust at a family’s choices.
> 
> The officer remembers lessons given to her from a ghost, through her brother-of-the-heart.

Naida Bryx looks up from her work as Girka Deshas walks into the room. He nods perfunctorily to her and bows deeply to her mother.

“What have you found, Girka?” Neesa asks.

“Scans from ships in orbit have located the area in which the escape pod crashed. I think that the Zeltron may have control over it.”

“Why is that?” Naida asks.

Deshas narrows his eyes at the intrusion. She meets his without an expression of fear.

“The transponder came on when it landed, but it was disabled almost immediately, _Second Child_ ,” he responds. An emphasis is placed on the title.

Naida turns her attention to her mother. “Mother, is it really worth going after this woman? Do we really want to risk getting the Dragon fully invested in ending us?”

Neesa looks up from her reverie. She focuses her eyes on her daughter, her smaller crest flaring with annoyance. “What do you think? How could you ask that? I want the Dragon’s attention on us. I want him to realize we will go to any means to fight for ours, when he is looking at what is left of the Zeltron after Girka feeds on her.” She touches Naida’s face. “After I send the husk to him.”

Naida watches as she turns her attention back to the Anzat enforcer. “Send a ship in to at least get a fix,” Neesa says. “These damned storms will not keep me from having my vengeance.”

He raises his eyebrow, his features questioning. “My lady, we may lose the ship. The atmospheric disturbances are growing more powerful.”

“I don’t care!” the matriarch screams. “I want this done! I have a couple of more women that I want to see choking their life out, after they disrupted my operations and attacked me, personally.”

He nods and exits.

Naida turns to her mother. “Why now, mother? It has been over seven years since Knih was taken. Why this thirst for vengeance?”

Neesa looks away. “Because now is the time I have chosen,” she says, after a moment.

Naida’s eyes widen as she hears something in her mother’s voice she has never heard before.

Sadness.

Neesa looks up at her. “Have you found the other two yet? The ones who attacked me here, on our own world?”

Naida purses her lips, takes a sip of water. “Only the human. She is a high government official on Alderaan, close to the Queen.” She stares at Neesa. “Killing a Corellian cop is one thing. Murdering a government official is another.”

Neesa rises from her seat. “You let me worry about that, little girl.” She calms a tiny bit. “No matter. The Naboo scum was secondary. I promised the Togruta that her skin would decorate Jabba’s sail barge. Or she would find a new occupation on that barge for sticking her pretty nose in my business. One that had her on her knees a large part of the rest of her short life.”

“There are absolutely no reports of her whereabouts. I think that somebody might have beat you to it. Especially since she used a lightsaber in your confrontation,” Naida replies evenly.

“Keep looking. I have already heard that I have been deprived of vengeance on the Mandos.”

Naida turns back to her datapad, a troubled look on her face.

~=~=~=~=~=

Ion watches as De checks the straps of the parachute/sail/thruster unit on the heir’s chest. De has not put his own helmet on; Papanoida can see the worry on his Crucible-brother’s broad face. His remaining eye moves over Ion, making him feel like they were both younglings in the Crucible.

De gives the heart-strap a final, sharp tug. Ion speaks into the microphone in the oxygen mask still tethered to the ship.

“I’ll be okay, Mother Trunk. Quit worryin’,” he says. He gasps as Cho gives an extra tug on the strap around his chest.

“Yeah, right, Moon Goddess. You’re not the guy who had to carry your perfect ass during the last stage of the Crucible.”

“Well, at least you recognized perfection when you saw it,” Ion replies.

A slight smile creases De’s face. “Yeah. As I recall, your nurse seemed to be under the apprehension that you might be something special,” he says.

Ion manages to keep the rueful expression off of his face. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t the one who wound up in the broom closet with her.”

Shilmar Keveen’s voice breaks in over their earpieces. “That would be me. She apparently wanted to discuss the spiritual implications of even thinking that you might be worth breaking the ‘no-kriffing-a-patient’ rule.

“Yeah. Never mind that you weren’t even a pre-seminary acolyte, much less a prelate,” Cho observes.

Ion tunes his two friends out as he thinks about what they are about to do. “If I can interrupt the grab-ass, remind me what the advantage of this is over a jetpack?”

De’s white eyebrows rise. “Having second thoughts, Moon?” he asks.

“No. Just want to know.”

“Without jetpacks at the start, this is harder to detect. The thrusters will be used with the chute and the sail to slow at the end, after we have gotten under sensors.”

Ion nods. He turns to De as the Major pulls his own helmet on. He starts to check De’s equipment.

As he finishes, De pulls his helmet to Ion’s. Their visors touch; Ion can just make out his friend’s single eye looking at him through the visor. Ion pulls back and bumps the plastoid to De’s, once, twice, three times. The single eye crinkles at the corner as his Crucible-brother smiles.

“Don’t worry, Ion,” De says. “Something tells me that Dani has everything under control and has already conquered the entire planet of Rodia.”

As he plummets through the upper atmosphere, Ion Papanoida sends a prayer to his planet’s deities that she is in control.

~=~=~=~=~=

Garm Bel Iblis sits contemplating the meeting with his father. He looks down at his hands on the burlwood desk in his office. He remembers the pain in Draq’s eyes as the old man tells him of Dani’s plight. Even then, the Dragon of Corellia speaks of her as one of his officers. Even though Garm, and probably Dani herself knows the deeper relationship.

Garm smiles as he thinks of his younger half-sister. Her love of life, her skill at what she does. His mind flies back to a day just before the start of the Clone Wars. Of a young Deputy Constable, her uniform pin-perfect, her purple beret sitting at the correct angle on her hair, standing next to him in a Senatorial pod. The pain and stiffness apparent in the set of her shoulders from her days in bacta. Days spent healing from a blow of a lightsaber, taking the slice meant for the Dragon. No hint of pain on her attentive features, but something else apparent as he voices Corellia’s appreciation for two Jedi who had risked their bodies for his and Dani’s world. One, a newfound relative, a young man who might someday hold the fate of the Five Brothers in his hands. The other, a serene, but powerful Jedi master—a Togruta elder huntress—who had made such an impression on all of his family.

More than an impression on the young Zeltron officer standing next to him, if the look in her eyes is to be believed.

Garm’s own eyes grow pained as he thinks of Dani’s losses. He opens his desk and pulls a datapad from the drawer. He punches a series of buttons. He curses as he realizes that his unofficial solution is not workable. He is sure that none of Draq’s are as well. Garm rubs his jaw in thought. He makes a decision. He picks up his comm, selecting a certain code in his contacts. He waits for the connection. It might be time for an official solution. One that will keep his father clean with the current Imperial ruler.The device connects. He stares at the visage revealed in the holo.

“Hello, Senator. Let’s talk about that relief package for your world. Specifically, whether or not I can commit Corellian resources to a state sponsor of criminal actions.”

~=~=~=~=~=

Dani senses the hit an instant before Sana plows full force into her back. Dani had managed to brace slightly, but the air still explodes from her lungs. Sana manages to grasp Dani’s wrists, but loses the left as Dani twists her arm away and up.

Dani is treated to the sound of a _whuff_ emitting from her opponent’s mouth, as well as the expurgated air on her back, as her errant left elbow strikes the criminal on her left cheek. The escape of air and its accompanying reflex gives Dani the leverage that she needs to seize the woman’s gun hand that seems to be making its way to Sana’s companion’s blaster stuck in her belt. Dani laughs as she manages to send Starros over her head.

The brief burst of laughter dies as Dani feels a trailing hand grasp the brown and blue mass of her hair and yank as the hand’s owner strikes a nearby tree trunk. _Maybe I should’ve kept the short hair,_ she thinks as her neck twists slightly in ways it was not meant to.

Dani’s thoughts are dispelled for an instant as the brief grasp during Sana’s flight throws her off balance. The pain in her neck, both literal and figurative, keeps her down on her elbows and knees for a brief second. A brief second too long.

Dani feels the weight of Sana on her back as Sana’s hands snake towards her own blaster, holstered in side-mounted nerf leather on the back of her belt. Dani manages to wrap her hands around those moving for the weapon, pinning them against her back. As she fights for the weapon, her mind travels back to a spar in which Bryne Covenant had found himself in a similar position.

As he was helping her up, he had recounted the lesson he had learned from another. A lesson from his Mandalorian heritage. A lesson he had learned the hard way, as he developed skills in the absence of his Force-sense. Lessons he would probably have to learn again. A specific discipline marked by its lack of discipline. Perfect for a melee fighter. Perfect for the Storm King.

A discipline designed to escape from any situation that she might find herself in. Dani continues to struggle against the inexorable move of Sana’s hand towards her weapon. Dani takes a quick, deep breath, and slowly slides her ankle next to Sana’s and then up the woman’s leg. As she approaches the knee, she allows her foot to twitch as if making a move to kick out. Dani feels Sana’s concentration shift to the move. Sana’s head shifts slightly to her right—only a centimeter or two.

It is just enough. Dani rams the back of her head into the face now centered on her own skull. A brief cry and Starros relaxes her assault on Dani’s gun hand for an instant from the unconventional, unexpected moves. Dani is able to gain leverage and heave herself up, with Sana still attached to her back.

Three moves against the trunk of another convenient tree, and Sana collapses with a groan. As Dani lies against her, recovering her breath, she thinks of Bryne’s description of the spar where he had learned this melee style. A lesson learned from a powerful woman, much smaller than him, but one who had held his heart in hers. Dani smiles ruefully as she remembers his familiar voice recounting his demonstration of the newfound skill with his teacher.

 _Pay attention to every bit of leverage, no matter how small. Exploit it_ , he had said in his drawl. Somehow, she had known he was echoing words said to him in that lesson of his memory. A lesson in which he had probably added one more bend in J’ohlana Wren’s crooked nose. A bend that had resulted in him lying on the floor clutching himself after a knee to his balls convinced him that he should never let up. An additional lesson applied after he had immediately gone to her aid, horrified by the injury from his reverse Keldabe Kiss. Dani’s eyes track downward, as she knows that his teacher had most probably been touched by his concern, even as she was applying the knee.

Dani shakes her head at the memory, smiling at the additional sight in her mind of Covenant’s own nose bleeding into her hair. She starts at a noise from her right. She clinches her teeth as she glimpses a khaki-clad retreating back, dark hair flying under a floppy pilot’s cap. Dani manages to seize her WESTAR, thumbing the selector to ‘stun’, and firing a blue ring after the woman, to no avail.

A phrase that is another lesson from that same brother of the heart, as well as her heart-bond comes to her mind, albeit in the language of her birth.

_Well, shit._


	8. The Ancients

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Dragon is called.
> 
> First confrontation, with a very large Pantoran and a very large blaster.

Aphra pulls up a file on the datapad that she had managed to grab as she left the clearing, one step ahead of the Zeltron’s blasterbolts. She winces as the still-healing blaster wound in her ass pulls against her trousers. The small hairs on her neck rise as she anticipates the cold shock to her nervous system from the stunbolt.

 _The cop might be a bit busy with Sana,_ she thinks. Aphra grins as she thinks of the power that her partner had shown when she was fighting the officer. The grin changes to a look of concentration as she finishes calibrating the pad’s navigation function with the ancient map. As the device thinks on her problem, she allows herself a moment’s thought about what could be. A quick scan of the historical data on this world had brought one word to the forefront of her brain—pushing all else out.

The Bryx’a Vault. A legendary place, filled with unimaginable treasures. Or at least according to the brief paragraph in the Bryx clan family legend. A legend dating back to a time before the current incarnation. Before a time that Neesa’s husband had sullied the name by falling into debt to the Hutts and every other criminal scumbag in the galaxy.

Aphra manages to stifle a scream as her boot slips on a slick tree root and her wound comes in contact with the root. She curses as she realizes that her hand is covered with the substance that seems to coat every surface in this godforsaken jungle. A silvery-blue lichen that attaches itself to anything it comes in contact with. She manages to scrape her hand clean on the trunk of the tree, in a spot that seems to be rubbed bare. Aphra winces as she shifts her ass. She manages to lever herself to her feet. She shakes her head and runs her hand down into her pants, checking for any fresh bleeding.

Her eyebrows raise for just a moment as the pain eases and is replaced by a numbness. She files the sensation as she focuses on where she is going. Aphra had known she was in the right area by the markings present on several trees. She had been perplexed when she had seen the symbols.

Symbols that had no connection with this world, but with another, more distant one. A world whose ruling families currently ran another, much larger criminal enterprise. Symbols that she recalled from her one seminar on the Falleen. Recollections seen through the mists of her daydreaming of glory, fame, and lucre in her archaeological career. Her eyes fall on yet another symbol uncovered from the insidious lichen’s concealment.

Aphra scans the symbol into her datapad, matching it with another ancient text. She grins as she thinks of her challenges disappearing from the Academic Finance Board with what she thinks is at the end of the path of symbols. She doesn’t think of the fact that of what had happened to those who had placed the symbols. The Rodians certainly had not placed Falleen symbols on their world.

~=~=~=~=~=

Dani eyes Sana as she tries to even her breathing out. The younger woman lies flat on her back, her eyes closed. Dani grins as she pulls herself up. She rubs her jaw ruefully, moving it from side to side on the joints. “So. Are you ready to surrender?”

“Nope,” is the only reply. “You, flatfoot?”

“Nope,” Dani says. She grins. “Didn’t exactly lie down and give up the last time I was the guest of the scumbags that are paying you.”

“Yeah?” Sana asks.

“Let’s just say I broke her oldest boy. In several places. There were also grenades involved.”

“I can see why they put the ‘alive’ tag on the bounty. Five minutes of knowing you and I am ready to kill you myself,” Sana says.

“How’s that working out for you, sweetie?” Dani asks her, voice growing surprisingly light.

“Don’t ask. I didn’t know you were a cop. I thought you were some criminal that ran afoul of the Bryxes.”

“Important safety tip, if you are going to be a bounty hunter. Check to see if your prey is bigger than you, dear,” Dani says.

“Not really wanting to be one,” Sana says. “I just wanted to make a score big enough to pay Aphra’s debts to the University, so that she could get back into school.”

Dani’s purple eyes soften. “Could I give you some dating advice, sweetie?” Dani asks. “No matter how good she is in bed, no amount of being a great lay is worth that amount of crazy, based on what I have seen of y’all’s adventures.”

Sana’s eyes flash for a moment, then calm. “You speaking from experience, sweetums?”

Dani grins. “No. Not really. Although I have had my share of losers, back in the day.”

Sana looks away. “I don’t think she is a loser. Just...complicated.” She takes a deep breath.

“Of course,” she continues, “she nearly got us both a date with an Imperial execution droid. Only the intervention of one of your Corellian buddies and his influence with an Imp got us free and clear.”

Dani’s eyes widen as a memory of a brief report that she had read before she left stirs. “Would this Corellian have gray hair and a propensity for being a smartass?”

“Yep. You know him?”

Dani smirks. “Oh, yeah. I know him. You could say I taught him everything he knows,” she says. Her smile fades. She looks away, gathering her emotions.

Sana says nothing for a moment. Dani smiles her gratitude.

Only for a moment. “He did have a somewhat nice ass. I think if circumstances had been different, he might have been somewhat entertaining,” Sana says. Her face flushes with anger as she shifts painfully. “That is, if he could refrain from shooting us both in the ass.”

Dani feels the laughter bubbling up from her chest. “Well, he does have a certain charm that way.” Her eyes grow hard. “Especially if anyone threatens one under his protection.”

Sana looks down. “I know,” is all that she says, in a whisper. She looks around. “Speaking of asses, where would my chaos-bringer be?”

Dani is about to reply when they both look in a particular direction, at a particular sound.

The sound of blasterfire.

“Found her,” Dani says dryly.

~=~=~=~=~=

Naida Bryx watches as more of her mother’s soldiers leave the compound, bound for the Far Outmarches at the edge of the clan lands. The group is the third one to leave within the last hour. She runs her hand over the slight crest between her eyes, a habit she had gained when, ever since she was a child, she had discovered what her father, and then her mother had pulled their clan into.

Clan Bryx had been one of the most respected families on Rodia, beyond the domed enclaves of the Capital and the other cosmopolitan enclaves. A series of bad business decisions by her father, and his violent, bloody death at the hands of a Pyke syndicate sub-boss had cast them onto their current path. A path that had led her mother to a Zygerrian slave-master and a mysterious figure known as Maliky, as well as Jabba the Hutt.

Naida allows her crest to fall in sadness at her thoughts of the past. Ever since her mother had descended into the morass of vengeance and murder that had enveloped her, Naida had grown more pessimistic about her family’s future. She knew that it was only a matter of time before Neesa’s obsession with the Corellians would tumble them into the Realms of Lost Souls. Naida makes a sound reminiscent of the predators in the lush blue and green foliage below her window. She expects to feel the garrote around her her own throat on a daily basis, or the more public demise of the execution spike in the base of her brain, even with just her small defiances. She takes a deep breath.

Naida nods to the four young Rodians standing next to her. Two males and two females. They briefly touch her shoulders, then turn to go. One of the males allows his hand to linger, then move to her cheek crest. She allows the protective cover over her eyes to dilate close as his hand leaves her face.

As she hears the door close, she makes her decision. Naida activates a comm, encrypting it with her hand-pattern. As she waits for the holo function to engage, her mind travels to the worst outcome. She feels her mother’s hands on her shoulders as she shoves her into the ancient spike jutting out from the Clan seat-room’s wall, directly opposite the Deliberation Table. She clinches her teeth to dispel the scene.

A holo pops up above the comm, crackling with encryption and distance. A symbol moves into her vision. A four-pointed star, with another in the center. A symbol of five worlds, the largest of which now holds her brother in its prisons. A world and a people that the young Zeltron had fought and nearly died for at the beginning of the last war.

For an idea that their people would not be enslaved at the whim of another. Naida hears a gravelly voice from the speaker. A voice with its mix of his world’s inflection and an Outer Rim drawl—combined with the influence of the finest university in the Republic.

Naida opens her voice-box.

~=~=~=~=~=

Ion Papanoida looks at Cho as they hear blasterfire in the near distance. They drop the remnants of the chute-sails and begin to move out. Trunk snags the heavy Z-6 revolving blaster from the ground where it had led their landing in, attached to him by a line. Ion draws his two blasters as they increase speed.

As they draw closer, Ion hears an increase in blasterfire, with a different pitch. He also feels an unaccountable warmth centered from his heart and below. He looks at Trunk, who has felt the same sensation. A sensation that his larger Crucible-brother is not as familiar with, as the producer of the wave had not particularly needed it to wipe the greens with them the last time they had met.

Ion doesn’t slow as he breaks into a clearing. He sees about a dozen large Rodians surrounding a large rock, their bolts chipping away at it. Ion starts and looks at Trunk as their eyes fall on a tall, cadaverous being watching the assault from behind the line of Rodians. Ion watches as the thugs move slowly in on the rock.

Very slowly. There is no fire being returned from the object of their assault. It is as if the Rodians are afraid of the rock itself. He watches as the tall leader draws his own blaster and shoots one of his soldiers in the back of the head. The other thugs stop firing in shock as their fellow slumps to the ground.

“Looks like he’s got the employee incentive program down,” Delan Cho says to Ion. “Shall we, Moon Goddess?”

“Let’s, Brother Trunk,” he replies. Before he can finish the sentence, more blasterfire erupts from both side of the treeline, away from the rock. Several more Rodians fall. Ion looks at Cho. The large officer shrugs, then opens up with the heavy blaster, adding a bass line to the symphony.

The Rodians scatter, ignoring the exhortation of the humanoid. After a moment, of returning fire, he too, fades into the jungle. Cho nonchalantly stops the revolving barrels of his weapon. Ion sees him look beyond the rock as a figure tentatively looks out from behind it. Ion sees a pair of dark eyes under dark hair and clad in worn, but serviceable field clothes. The young woman, who appears to be in her late teens raises her right hand to an odd flight cap, adjusting it. Ion sees the lines of the linear tattoo on the bicep and forearm, before it falls to her side.

Ion also sees a pair of binders hanging from her left wrist. His eyes narrow at her, as a cheeky grin spreads across her face. He realizes that her dark eyes have a slightly demented cast to them, a pure joy at the mayhem and chaos that has erupted around her.

“Well, hello, Ion. Fancy meeting you here,” a warm, familiar voice says. He turns towards the voice, as well as the rising sensation in his body. Daaineran Faygan stands with a younger woman, both holding smoking blasters. Ion knows that he has probably painted an extremely stupid grin on his face. The dark skinned human woman disappears from his vision as he gazes at Dani. He shakes his head.

Dani looks at her companion, jerks her head at the woman’s hand. Both women holster the blasters.

He smiles. “Hey, Dani,” he says. “Didn’t bring my clubs, but maybe we can discuss a rematch.”

She laughs, a musical sound after the harsh notes of the brief firefight. She walks up to him and takes him in her arms, squeezing him tightly. Her eyes darken as they fall on Cho, who stands there, looking at his toes.

Ion’s own laughter rises. “I haven’t seen him look that sheepish since he got caught trying to release skin-pigeons in the dorm to get back at an obnoxious RA for restricting him.”

Cho looks up, his expression briefly flashing, before grinning at them both. “As I recall, a certain scion of the theatrical world put the idea in the head. Along with a prelate-in-training.” He bows his head to Dani. “It is good to see you again, ma’am,” he says.

Dani’s eyes widen at the words and the gesture. Ion sees Trunk look away. “The two of us treated you disrespectfully on the links. On behalf of Pantoran males everywhere, I would like to apologize.”

It is Ion’s turn to pick his jaw from the lush ground. Dani reaches up and touches De’s cheek. “It was part of the game, dear. May have used a bit of my gift to get you overconfident.” Ion watches as her smile widens. “But it is refreshing to see a man who knows how to take responsibility for his actions.”

Cho nods. His face crinkles in a frown. “So let me get this straight. You made the three of us horny so that you could distract us from your shitty play?”

Dani grins. “Didn’t really need to use it much. I could’ve played y’all into the water hazard with one hand and my resonance tied behind my back. You were both alternating between preening and taking great pleasure in my ‘shitty play,’ as you call it.”

Ion breaks in. “Yeah. I wondered where they got off to after the game. I think they went and worked your ‘gift’ off with each other.”

Cho smirks. “Yeah. You would’ve been invited, Moon Goddess, if you weren’t falling all over yourself to go have lunch with the champ.”

“Someone had to hold up the honor of Pantora,” Ion snarks back. He looks at Dani. “Hopefully, when we get out of this, he either won’t bore you with greenputt discussions, or try to find a way to beat you at something.”

She reaches up and kisses Cho on his cheek. “I look forward to either, Major Trunk,” she says. “I am sure that we can find something else that the three of you might be good at.”

A new voice breaks in. “As much as I am enjoying the foreplay and discussion of boring-ass sports, I might point out that my partner has managed to slip away again. She is probably already in some kind of poodoo.”

Dani’s expression grows dark as she stares at the younger woman. Both Ion and De are glad that someone else is the focus of that look.


	9. The Kovant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our intrepid archaeologist falls down a hole.
> 
> A snake is revealed to Dani.
> 
> It might not go the way the snake thinks.

Aphra smiles as she moves slowly into the dimly lit cave. She marvels that the cerulean fungus, in the atmosphere of the cave, gives off a form of bioluminescence that lights her way, as the distance indicator on her datapad ticks off to her legendary destination. She recalls the numbness on her wound when she had happened to touch it with the substance. On a whim, she scratches some of the fungus away and places it in the sampling slot of her datapad. She smirks as the day that she had relieved the arrogant Sava of the expensive scientific model rises in her memory. An hour after he had told her that she would never make it as an archaeologist.

After several moments, Aphra smiles at the results. _Somebody could make some beer money off of that._ She saves the results, and sends it to a familiar comm. One whose owner could possibly get it to the right people to cash in on that ‘beer money’.

She takes a deep breath. _Just in case I get myself too deep in the shit in this one._ Aphra remembers the dry prose of the archaeological overview and assessment she had managed to find. _The team would have been able to find the object, if not for the territoriality of the ruling clan of the lands. One could almost sense a palpable fear of discovery among those who allowed themselves to be interviewed. Fear of something larger and more powerful than themselves. A fear that resulted in the deaths of several of our survey team members._

Aphra herself feels a bit of a fear at the still-dry and clinical description of some of those demises. _The Bryx practice a particularly brutal and final form of execution. The victim is shoved bodily onto a spike inset in the wall—a spike that is still painted with the blood and other substances of those who have gone before. The spike enters the brain in such a manner that it is not a quick death. The executioners are quite skilled and scientific in the application._

She curses under her breath, shaking her head. _Come on, idiot,_ her mind says in her Sana-voice. _You’ve faced a few other perils._ Aphra’s mind flows back to the jungles of Yavin 4–very large, eyeless snake creatures surrounding her as she wakes up. She grits her teeth at the memory of the smirking face of the Togruta woman—only a few years older than she—as she watches the snakes destroy her rebuilt B1 battledroids. She remembers the satisfying feel of the Togruta’s jaw under her clumsy punch a few weeks later on Bar’leth.

Any remorse at ordering the woman to be blown into chunks by those battledroids does not find its way into the thoughts of that encounter. Nor does any gratitude at being alive, either through the manipulation of the snakes, or the destruction of the Black Sun fighter in orbit around the moon.

Aphra starts as she realizes her wandering thoughts have led her to a low door with the smell of fire from within. She squares her shoulders, closing her eyes in concentration, and pushes her right foot out.

And screams as she feels herself slip into a vertical shaft. There is a rush of air as she plummets.

~=~=~=~=~=

Delan Cho is close behind the youngest member of their party as she rushes down the cave. He manages to reach out and snag her by the collar, yanking her back. Her rearward momentum carries her into his chest.

“Let me go, you stupid oaf. She has probably gotten herself in trouble,” she yells.

“And that is my problem, how?” he asks quietly. He tightens his grip, and applies only a fractional bit of of his strength to his hands, giving her an almost unnoticeable shake.

“She is my—,” Sana starts. She slumps in his hands, looking down. Cho allows a bit of warmth into his remaining eye. He tips her chin up, bringing her eyes to his.

“Maybe so,” he says, “but we need to be smart about finding her. You’ll be no help if you rush in stupidly. Besides, from your description, that seems to be her specialty.”

He feels Ion and Dani walk up behind them as Sana’s lips crease into a brief grin. She starts as a buzzing noise comes from her wrist.

She pulls a small holocom up. “Do you have a datapad?”

Ion produces his from the exterior of his pack. She brings the comm to it. The four of them see a small, circular symbol pop up, above lines of Aurabesh.

“The Medallion of the Kovant? What the hell is that?” Ion asks.

Sana is silent for a moment. De can see her reading quickly. “It is some kind of Falleen religious symbol. Or political—it is kind of vague. It was rumored to be stolen by Rodians centuries ago. It might even be around here somewhere.” She closes her eyes. “Goddamnit,” she says simply.

“What?” Dani asks.

“Before we jumped into Rodian space, she was doing a lot of reading. Several documents. She seemed to be jumping back and forth a lot.”

Dani sighs. “I guess she found something. Something that connected everything.”

Sana smiles ruefully. “Yeah. That’s what she does. That demented brain of hers can see patterns.” She looks at the ‘pad again. “I think we are in the right place—I knew she was here for a reason, rather than just being cornered by those assholes.” She traces a line of script. “The map information says it is this way.”

De realizes that he and the other two are staring at her, as she expertly scans the text, stopping at various points. She looks up and sees them looking at her. De grins as she flushes.

“I was just in the class to get laid. Did pick up a few things, though.”

De looks at the text. “That came from Aphra, right?” he asks.

“Yeah, why?”

“Well, let’s be smart about this,” he repeats. He pulls out his own comm. “Hey, Flower. Time for you to pull your thumb out and earn your keep.”

“Yeah, big guy,” says the voice at the other end. “I am just sitting up here waiting on your call. Just glad to hear that you and Moon didn’t splat on the surface.”

“Put a sock in it and listen, Shil. Need you to see about tracing a text on the holonet. Get me a location.”

“Yeah. I learned that in the seminary. Right along with all the other Appetites and Sacraments.”

De closes his eyes. “That is why I upgraded your ship to be able to do it for you. I knew you were next to useless except for piloting.”

“You’ve found other uses for me,” comes the reply.

Out of the corner of his eye, De sees Dani’s sculpted eyebrow rise. “Never mind that, reject. Do it.” He stares challengingly at Dani as he pockets the comm. “He is my spiritual advisor,” De interjects, as she starts to speak.

“I think I may need to look into your religion,” she says dryly.

De turns on his heels and begins to head deeper into the cave, not waiting on the information from Shil.

~=~=~=~=~=

Aphra crawls through the narrow stone conduit. Her eyes focus on a dim glow ahead of her. The pain from her knees and hands, as well as the returning pain of her wound. She curses the Corellian who had shot her, as well as Sana.

Her eyes soften as she thinks of her friend. She smiles. _Is that what she is? Is she her lover? Her business partner?_

Aphra allows her mind to wander to nights and days together. She stops as she thinks of Sana’s expression at some of her schemes and adventures. A look that was a mix of fear, anger, and resignation. She starts crawling again, shaking thoughts of Sana from her mind, focusing on the possibility of solving all of her problems with this find.

A find that had been taken from the ancestors of that same Black Sun Vigo who had engaged her to travel to Yavin—with the promise of the historical data from the fighter’s database for her research and her thesis.

There had been no word from the crime syndicate. There had been no one coming for her in the night for failure, or for the death of their operative. She had continued to live, but with her eyes over her shoulder. She had thought that she might be dead when she had run into the Togruta on Bar’leth. Aphra was sure that the Togruta might have been a competing Black Sun operative—even killing another operative in that anooba-eat-anooba organization. The young woman had merely warned her to stay away from her, even after Aphra had punched her. Not exactly the actions of a violent criminal from an organization known for its violence in every incarnation.

Aphra realizes that she has moved into a larger room. Her eyes widen as she sees a glowing symbol on the floor of the chamber. She realizes it is a projection—a projection produced by the dim sunlight shining through a grate.

A grate in the shape of the symbol that she is looking for. She tentatively reaches above her. Her hand cuts through the air, instead of being blocked by the ceiling. She is able to stand in the chamber. Her eyes are drawn to her right, to a different sort of glow. Her breath catches at what she sees.

A small tubular container formed from colored glass or crystal. A shadowy object rests within.

A blue glow pulses up and down the object, almost hypnotic in its rhythm. Aphra’s eyes are drawn to it. She moves closer to the container. A sensation of warmth and energy moves through her body as she draws closer. Her eyes widen as the object comes into tighter focus.

Aphra jerks out of the focus on the slightly glowing object, as she hears footsteps and voices from down the tunnel she had just crawled through. She can just make out two familiar voices—that of Sana, as well as the Corellian cop.

Chelli Lona Aphra, the once and future archaeologist, makes her move towards the Medallion of the Kovant. As she does, a dark presence begins to intrude into her mind.

~=~=~=~=~=

Dani manages to stop at the opening to the large chamber. She feels Sana curse as she slams into her back. She jumps over the hole in the floor and moves to the center. She stares at the ornate disk sitting in a wooden mount. Ion and De join them at the altar-like table. They are silent for a moment. Dani looks at Ion. He nods and brings his datapad up. The four of them look at the image at the top of the report.

It is an exact match for the disk.

“It’s larger than I would’ve thought,” Ion says.

“It’s also made of ceramics. Wouldn’t think a medallion would be made of that,” Dani says.

Sana shakes her head. “Some cultures don’t think much of metals. Something more humble could be used for a very valuable object.”

Dani looks closer at the object. “No. Most Falleen I have met have a very healthy respect for precious metals and jewels.”

“Well, the question is, if the thingy is there, where is Aphra?” This from the comm and Shilmar Keveen. “The computer gave her location as being in this area.”

“Maybe it was operator error,” De says dryly. There is no response from the speaker, but Dani is fairly sure that there may be gestures.

“Okay. I guess we need to figure out where the crazy got to.”

“No. Actually you need to drop all of your weapons and don’t move.”

Dani turns to the direction of the oddly accented voice.

A near-human stands framed in a different entrance than the one they had entered. An entrance previously concealed by a heavy tapestry. Beside her, she hears De curse under his breath, probably at their tactical lapse in not checking for other entrances. She smiles gently, as she realizes he is cursing himself, the trained military officer, more than anyone else. She shakes her head as he moves towards his blaster.

She senses others in her resonance. A double handful of Rodians enter the room behind the gray, bland-faced being, their blasters pointed at the four. It is only a swift few minutes before the four are relieved of their visible weapons and most of Dani’s invisible ones. She feels the anger rising in Ion and De at the search for those weapons. She smiles gently and touches their cheeks, just before her arms are seized by two of the thugs.

The Rodians move the others away from her. A twinge of fear crosses through her resonance from De and Ion. The near-human, _an Anzat_ , some clinical part of her mind says approaches her. She feels the two Rodians holding her move her closer to the wall.

The Anzat smiles and pulls a holocomm pad from his belt. A frown flows to his features as he tries to make a connection. After a moment, he stops, and turns to Dani.

A smile that reminds her of a corpse flows to his features underneath his bulbous nose. “My dear, there was someone who wanted to see this happen, but I can’t seem to reach her.”

“Well, if it is all the same to you, I can wait until she is through. I am sure she is busy, ruining all of those lives,” Dani says acerbically. “She might be able to fit me into her schedule.”

The smile on the creature’s face grows. “No, my dear. The miracle of modern technology will allow her to enjoy this again and again. I will make sure that we will transport what is left to her.” He motions to another Rodian, who pulls a comm and begins to record. “I am feeling a bit peckish. I need sustenance.”

For only the second time in her life, Daaineran Faygan is sure that she is about to die. She fights her fear. She allows her resonance to go silent, much like she had when she and Ahsoka had stood against the wall on her homeworld, facing a dozen blasters. She doesn’t want her friends to feel her fear, if she is not able to suppress it. She takes a deep breath, and closes her eyes for a moment. She opens them when she feels his cold hands on her shoulders, then up to her neck.

She manages to find her voice. “Let them go. This is between Neesa and I. They are innocent.”

The skull-like smile appears again. “Ms. Faygan, no one is truly innocent. The bounty hunter is mine, since there were irregularities with her status in the Guild. The two Pantorans might be of some use to my employer, since I seem to recognize one of them as the son of the ruler. Maybe I’ll get the big one. Might gorge myself on him.”

Dani cringes at his touch, but allows her eyes to turn darker. She hears gasps as her new friends and Sana feel what is building in her, as she opens the resonance full force. She feels the two Rodians holding her recoil from her.

The Anzat tightens his grip on her neck, then her face. She can feel him vibrating and fighting the emotions playing through the connection. Emotions that her people are not known for. Not the joy or comfort or love, nor the fear that had nearly overtaken her a moment ago.

In some part of her mind and her heart, she can feel Delan Cho struggling against the two criminals holding him, as they struggle in turn with their emotions. Dani cries out as she feels her attacker’s fingers tighten on her jaw. She watches as two snake-like tendrils appear from both sides of the Anzat’s nose and move towards her face. She fights to free herself from his iron grip, as one of the tendrils reaches her nose. She screams as she feels the tip enter her nostril. As her hand moves to join her other in fighting his grip on her face, it falls on a metal object on her wrist.


	10. Aphra Saves the Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe?

Aphra feels herself crawling, as though she is watching herself from above. The Medallion clutched in her hand is the only thing that she truly feels.

 _No. That is not quite true_. Her own personality hammers at her mind, as if trying to escape. She is no longer Aphra.

_I am the Medallion. I am the Kovant._

~=~=~=~=~=

Sana Starros watches in horror as the creature’s tendrils start to move inexorably to Dani’s brain. Her gorge rises as she thinks of how they had gotten to this place. Of the choices she had made for another’s dream.

She starts to make her own choice. She strikes out at the two Rodians holding her. She can feel that they are both struggling with the emotions assaulting them, just as she is.

Sana allows her eyes to widen as she sees the one for whom she had made those choices rise above the floor. Aphra finishes her climb and stands watching the tableau unfolding. Sana is about to yell at her when she realizes that Aphra’s dark eyes are subsumed by an otherworldly blue glow. Her mind sinks as she realizes the implications of that. She watches as Aphra draws a midnight-black crystal dagger from behind her back.

The same azure glow pulses down the blade of the dagger, from the hilt. She sees her friend raise the weapon.

The weapon flies from her hand, as if guided by something else.

“Down!” Sana screams, as she drops to her knees. She feels the two Rodians dropping with her, struggling to pull her back up, as well as struggling with the wave of darkness.

Her hands suddenly seem to be free, as she feels the two Rodians drop to the ground. Green blood pours from their throats, where the blade has intersected with their throats, before flying towards other targets. As Sana tears her eyes away from the scene of nearly a dozen Rodians, dropping dead, she brings her eyes to Dani, dreading what she would see.

~=~=~=~=~=

Dani seizes the bright bangle circling her wrist. She only has a second to think on the irony of the dragonsnake-like gold jewelry coming to her aid against the tendrils attempting to crawl their way up to her brain. She fights the nausea welling in her throat as she snaps the twisted bangle straight and flicks the head of the reptile off.

A scream not her own, from a deeper voice cuts through her senses, as she plunges the small blade contained within into the Anzat’s left eye. She feels the vibroflex-blade extend deeper at the touch of a hidden button.

At the same time that the grotesque intrusion into her nostrils disappears. Dani looks to her left.

An obsidian blade quivers in the wall next to her.

The two tendrils that had been attached to the Anzat wriggle around the blade that pins them to the wall.

Dani falls to her knees, then over to her side. She feels Ion supporting her, his face filled with fear and worry. She closes her resonance. She feels her head turned to the side as the deluge of ration paste and water that she had been holding back strikes the floor.

~=~=~=~=~=

Ion holds Dani against him. He turns and sees Aphra on the floor, Sana holding her. Her eyes are once again a more normal dark brown, as they look blankly at the Nar Shadaan. He returns his gaze to Dani. Her eyes have morphed back to their royal purple, as well. His heart sinks as he sees the tiny amount of blood seeping from her nose. De kneels next to him. He looks at his friend. De smiles and touches Dani’s nose. His fingers seem to be coated with the blue-green substance that seems to cover everything that they had seen since they had landed.

Ion feels his own smile come to his face as the oozing blood stops with the application of the substance. Dani’s eyes focus on both of them. She reaches up and brings her hand to Ion’s face, then Trunk’s. “If I didn’t just puke my guts out, I would kiss you both, studs.”

Ion grins and reaches down, bringing his lips to hers, in spite of the warning. De merely brings a water bottle to her lips as soon as Ion moves back. He kisses her on the forehead as she drinks.

All three of them look up at a noise. Dani sees Delan bring up a blaster as another Rodian, this one a female with rare purple skin and high crest running between her eyes upwards towards the space between her antennae enters the chamber.

“Don’t, Trunk. Stand down,” she hears in a different voice. A voice with the sharp vowels of the Pantoran accent. A smaller Pantoran stands next to the Rodian. One that is familiar to her, just as Delan was. Her eyes move back to the Rodian.

A holocomm rests in her hands. It activates, bringing into sharp focus two beloved faces.

“I just can’t seem to get you to understand the idea of a vacation, can I, soon-to-be-apprentice Constable-again Faygan?” rumbles a true Dragon from one of her worlds.

“Well, you know me, Procurator. How easily I get distracted.”

The voice of the figure next to Draq’ speaks. “Seems like we didn’t need to worry, Dani,” Garm Bel Iblis says. “You had everybody where you wanted them.”

“Yeah,” she says. She grins at him. “Finally got to use that nice jewelry that you gave me for what it was intended for, Senator,” she says. In her minds eye, she sees the man she knows to be her half-brother, presenting her with the bracelet-band, shortly after she had stood next to him in a Senate pod—his guardian while he made Republic history. Just before the war that had changed their lives had begun.

Neither had acknowledged the other as family on that day. Merely as Senator and a newly-promoted Senior Deputy Constable. She fights to rise to her feet. She reels, but she senses both Delan and Ion supporting her as she turns her attention to the Rodian. “You’re Naida, right? Neesa’s daughter.”

The young woman nods. “Yes. I seem to find myself the new head of the Bryx clan,” she says.

“And Neesa?” Dani asks.

“She is on her way to Corellia. There seems to be a medical facility there that can help her.” She looks down. “At the cost of four good friends.”

Dani says nothing. After a moment, she nods.

Naida wipes moisture from below her eyes. “It helped my case to change our family direction when your Dragon offered to help resettle the ones whose lives that we have destroyed. He offered to help them find a peaceful life.” She makes an approximation of a smile. “It also helped that your Senator placed a little gentle pressure on my government to put its own pressure on us.” She moves closer to Dani. She bows. “You have our most humble apology, Chief Superintendent Faygan,” she says formally. Naida looks away. “We have a lot to atone for, if our family will even survive.”

Dani smiles and takes Naida’s hand in hers. “It might’ve still taken a little courage on your part, Naida. I know the influence that parents hold over children.” She notices that Draq’ can’t meet her eyes through the hologram. Her eyes tear as she sees Garm smile at his father’s discomfort.

_Some day._

Draq’ returns his gaze to Dani. “Your vacation is extended another few days.”

She starts to protest.

“No argument, Dani,” he says. Draq’ shifts his gaze to Ion. “Mr. Papanoida, if you please. If you and your friends could escort Chief Superintendent Faygan back to the liner, I would be in your debt.” He grins. “You have my permission to use any means necessary. Including stun-cuffs.”

Dani allows a sly look to come over her face. “Oooh,” she says, “that sounds like something I might enjoy.” The grin increases its wattage as she sees the wide-eyed look of her half-brother, and the eyeroll of her father, just as the comm fades.

She turns her attention to her two current problems. One of them is just now coming back into herself.

“So I saved the day?” Aphra asks Sana woozily.

“Yeah, sweetie. Just keep thinking that,” Sana replies. She looks up at Dani.

“So about that little misunderstanding?” she asks hopefully. She looks away under the Corellian officer’s baleful stare.

Dani closes her eyes. “I am going to regret this, but get the hell out of here. As I think a friend of mine told you, Aphra, stay the hell away from me and mine.”

Aphra’s eyes widen in spite of the wooziness from her experience.

Dani nods at Sana. She allows a bit of understanding to flow to her expression. She turns away from them, as do the other two.

De looks at Naida. “I think I may have some ideas for your family’s survival without the slave trade. He holds up his fingers. They are covered with the blue-green substance.

Naida looks confused. “That is _jallum_ -fungus. It is everywhere. Pretty much useless.”

De smiles. “Not exactly, Naida. It is not quite a fungus, even though it has many properties of one. It is a spice offshoot—very similar to nysillin plants. Very rich in analgesic and other qualities that enhance bacta.”

Naida is silent, as the Major continues. “It has properties that the Republic and the Seps looked for during the war—qualities thought to only be found in a certain mineral. This stuff is everywhere in your region.”

“That little mineral cost some friends of mine a great deal of pain,” Dani says quietly. She closes her eyes as she thinks about those friends.

The Rodian nods. “Yes. We thought it was our curse. It only grows on our lands. Try as we might, we cannot eradicate it. It just grows back.”

De smiles at her. “That is why it is so valuable. It is very resilient. There must be something in your soil and the ecosystem.”

Dani smiles at De. “I am impressed. I thought you were the brawn of the operation, but you are the brains, as well.”

The other Pantoran laughs. “He has his uses. Chemistry degree, tactical skill. He learned strategy at the knee of the great Sorentin Rhayme.”

Dani knows that her eyes flash with anger at that last name, associated with a Pantoran.

Shil holds his hand out to Dani. “My name is Shilmar Keveen. My friends call me Flower. I enjoyed watching your greenputt skill.”

Dani takes it. “Really? I thought you enjoyed my ass in the skirt, rather than my skill, Flower.”

He doesn’t look away. “That, too,” he says. Their laughter rises with De and Ion.

Dani suddenly feels a wave of lightheadedness.

She slumps between Ion and Delan. Delan Cho, known as Trunk, smiles as he lifts her into his arms.

None of the others notice Aphra take the knife from the wall. Sana notices. Her eyes tear as she follows Aphra from the room.

Naida allows them to leave, without a word. Dani looks over at her before her eyes close in Cho’s arms. The new clan-leader rubs the _jallum_ between her fingers.

**Two Days Later**

Aphra keeps her head bowed from her position on the floor. She feels the blaster against the back of her head.

Xizor, Vigo of the Black Sun and Falleen Prince of the Second Rank stares at her impassively. His lieutenant, Tera Mot holds Sana by her hair in the same position, a blade at her throat.

“Tell me, scavenger. You failed me in finding the database. One of my operatives died trying to retrieve it.”

“That wasn’t me, your Princeness,” she says. She feels Sana wince next to her.

“Oh? And who was it?” Xizor asks.

“Some Togruta bitch. She—,” Aphra starts. She quiets as Xizor turns to Tera.

“There have been reports of a Togruta female interfering with our operations, a few years back. Another Vigo tried to recruit her. Haven’t heard from her in awhile.” He returns his gaze to the pair on the floor. “So why shouldn’t I kill you and your friend?”

Aphra looks up at him. She nods to her bag. “In my bag. There is a crystal container. Allow me to get it.”

Xizor’s eye-crest rises. After a moment, he nods to Tera. Aphra’s guards yank her up.

In moment Xizor’s eyes fall on the container. Aphra starts to open it and grasps the dagger. A dagger made of a dark crystalline substance. A disc-like symbol is visible at the top of the handle. As she grasps it, the guards place their blasters at her head again.

The black blade begins to pulse with a blue light as she touches it. Xizor waves the guards away. He places his chin in his hands, his black eyes focused on the blade. Both he and Tera draw in breaths. They hold them.

The Prince nods with satisfaction. His mind rushes with possibilities. “You may have just saved your lives. That is the Medallion of the Kovant. The symbol of a Prince of the First Rank. For those who are worthy.”

He looks at Aphra. “Bring it to me. In the container.”

Aphra replaces the blade and walks towards the Falleen. She lays it at his side.

Xizor waves away the guards. Tera releases Sana and sheathes her blade.

“You are free. I will reimburse your expenses and your fees for the database job, as well as give you an extra twenty-five thousand.”

Aphra starts to speak. She feels a shove from her side.

“We’ll take it, excellency,” Sana says.

“Now get out of my sight,” Xizor says. “Make sure I can reach you, if I need your services again.”

As the two hurry away, Tera remains silent. “What?” Xizor asks. “You think I made a mistake in not slaughtering them?”

Tera shakes her head. “No. Don’t care. Just got a report from Rodia. Neesa is no longer in charge of the Bryx. What’s more, they have released their slaves and their ships have returned to their territorial lands.”

Xizor is silent. He nods. “We will watch and wait. It is what we do best, sometimes. I am assuming that the Corellian officer survived?”

“Yes, First-Prince,” she says.

Xizor smiles at the first use of his new title. He sobers. “I guess Sal will be complaining she was not able to use the Zeltron’s salvation for her leverage against Bel Iblis.”

“I have already gotten a comm from her,” Tera says.

Xizor touches her cheek. “Go to Corellia, dear Tera. You have free rein as to do what you have to do. Even if you have to kill Sal.”

Tera smiles. “You know how persuasive I can be, my Prince,” she says. “Even without violence.”

He returns her smile. “Leave in the morning,” he says quietly.

She kisses him and follows the two young women from the room.

Xizor opens the top of the container. He smiles to himself. _This will help consolidate my power, even in the Black Sun, not to mention with my own people._

His hand closes on the weapon. He draws it from the container.

The blade remains obsidian, with no hint of the azure glow. His eyes widen.

~=~=~=~=~=

Sana looks over at Aphra as their ship rises away from Falleen and Xizor’s secondary residence. Her eyes tear as she realizes that Aphra is ignoring her, already engrossed in something on her datapad. She stares at Aphra. After a moment, Aphra turns to her. She grins crookedly at Sana.

“What, sweetie? Got a lead on a job. Could pay us the rest of what I was actually owed by that snake.” Aphra says.

Sana feels her heart sink. She immediately starts to harden it. She opens her mouth.

Aphra reaches over and kisses her, allowing their lips to meld and her tongue to explore Sana’s open mouth.

After a moment, Sana Starros reciprocates.

 _Maybe another day_ , Sana thinks.

~=~=~=~=~=

Delilah Sal’s eyes flash with anger as she clicks off the comm. The fact that Tera Mot is coming to her world is irrelevant. She is an Imperial Advisor—soon to be the Viceroy. She doesn’t fear criminals.

It is the news that the colorless ISB drone had brought. News that her mother had been in contact with a certain Mandalorian clan.

She wonders if she should warn the Dragon and his nephew. She shakes her head.

She will watch and wait, just as Tera Mot had informed her that this would be Black Sun’s course.

Delilah Sal will see who is left standing after the Wren thug goes after Jamestyn Blackthorn’s brat.

~=~=~=~=~=

The light builds behind Dani’s eyelids as Ion thrusts gently into her. She is careful as her fingers clinch in his back muscles while their cries rise in the artificial night. She grins against the skin of his shoulder.

 _Not too careful_ , a part of her mind says, as tips of her fingers feel the slight dampness from the shallow valleys her nails had produced on his shoulders. She squeaks as he gives a sharp thrust, timed with an application of his teeth on her shoulder, followed by a soothing kiss.

Dani rises slightly from her seated position in his lap, then sinks down, tightening the grip of her legs and arms around his back. She can feel her own finish building, just as she feels him holding his own back, through the resonance. She moves her left hand to his cheek, her thumb stroking his temple as her own black eyes stare into his gold. She makes her choice, opening her resonance even more, reflecting his and her emotions to both of them. She focuses her mind’s eye on the feel of him inside of her.

Dani moves her lips to his ear. “Let go, sweetie,” she whispers. “Let’s fall together.”

Moments later, they rest in each other’s arms, still connected, still sitting up. Dani allows her mouth to play over Ion’s chest as their heartrates settle to the appropriate speed for a Pantoran and a Zeltron. She feels Ion’s lips shape into a smile against her cheek.

“So, about that rematch,” he says. Dani feels the laughter rise again, along with the slight spike in her resonance. She pulls her head back and kisses him.

“I think we still need to include Trunk and Flower in any rematch,” she says.

“I am sure I could get a tee-time,” he replies, returning her kiss.

“Honey, I ain’t necessarily talking about greenputt,” she says with a sly look in her purple eyes.

She feels her lips form a smirk at his widened eyes, as well as the indigo flush to his features. She kisses him again on the down-angled tattoos under his eyes.

A crooked grin moves across his slightly vulpine features. “You might make their year, Dani,” he says. “I don’t know if they could handle you, though. Hope that there is no bet involved.”

He looks away. Dani places her fingers on his chin and raises it, to where his eyes meet hers. “Hey, sweetie. Don’t look so down. I don’t just fall into bed with anybody. You are a good man. You came to help me without hesitation.” Her smile grows sly again. “Even though it was debatable whether I needed help.”

He matches her smile, somewhat ruefully. “How do you feel, Daaineran?” he asks gently.

Dani is silent for a moment. She pushes him back, lying full on him. “I am getting better. I don’t feel like my world is spinning anymore.” She rests her forehead on his chest. “The resonance isn’t meant to be used like that. I have only done it a couple of times. Takes awhile.” She closes her eyes. “This helps. The light always helps. The comfort and the joy pushes the negative away.” She feels his lips move over her hair, and then stop. Dani feels the intake of breath, as well as his silence.

She kisses him again, this time more gently. “You are a good man,” she repeats. “Someday that woman that you told me about, the one who you hold your heart for, will see that. I know her, even though you haven’t said her name. She is smart. She will see.” She closes her eyes as she remembers Riyo Chuchi and her fierce reckoning with a would-be assassin. She also remembers softer moments.

A questioning look comes over his face. “Have you—?”

She touches his cheek. “Hush. Don’t worry about that.” She grins again. “Worry about how I am going to kick you and your little gang’s ass in whatever rematch we choose.”

There is an explosion of laughter from both of them as Ion’s fingers travel to a certain sensitive spot. The laughter comes more from the struggle, rather than the actual relentless assault.

It is not a long struggle, as the sounds from the bed become quieter and lighter.

A stray thought runs through her mind as the light blooms.

_Finally. Nobody is shooting at me._

~=~=~=~=~=

Later, Ion looks down at the sleeping young woman. He thinks of everything that she has faced, of everything that she has told him. He thinks of things that he is sure lies under the surface in her mind, that she hasn’t told him.

He hears a low moan from her. He moves her hair gently away from her face. His one glimpse of her loved ones—even her boss and her Senator—shows him that she is loved. There is something more in the way that the old man had asked them to find her. Something deeper.

For now, he can only give her what respite he can, before he knows that she will go back to the fight.

The fight against the darkness.

~=~=~=~=~=


End file.
